Fix You
by MikeScofield-is-2-hot
Summary: After seven years the wizarding world is reaching the dull calm after storm. Everyone has jobs, lives, but there's someone missing from it all. She's been missing for years, but they won't let it go. So why should he care? DMHG
1. It's Been a While

**A/N: Hey guys this is a filler for those waiting on my other story JIL which is on an undecided hiatus—so FY is really interesting, I gave it a lot of thought so it's pretty long, sorry if you don't like it, I do :P so enjoy! All characters, names, etc. belong to JK Rowling! Thanks to the University of Notre Dame for the Latin translator for some of the spells I'm going to make up/use in this and following chapters!**

**Fix You**

**Chapter One: It's Been A While**

He exhaled the smoke out of the side of his mouth and dropped the cigarette to the pavement, stepping on it to put it out. He observed his surroundings: a deserted city square somewhere in the heart of London, at three AM. Draco Malfoy was not the only man on the job that night, there were several on the case. At the present moment they were all huddled around the body of a young woman, some were scouring the crime scene for the clues they knew they would never find.

The cases started out as what everyone thought was a serial killer and homicides, which turned into suspected femicide since the victims were all female and on their dead, naked bodies were found the words "You Lied" carved onto where their mouth would have been. The cases were then investigated by the aurors of the magical community because of the way the women's mouths were sealed shut—as if by magic—and it had baffled the 'please-men' and the aurors as well for they couldn't figure out what spell was being used to 'melt' their lips together. Someone had suggested the old _Liquefacio_ spell, but it was too simple. Another had said it was the _Angustatus_ spell which had three basic parts—that's where their suggestion fell flat: three _basic_ parts. The killer was using a spell they'd never seen or heard of before.

Draco crouched down behind one of the aurors and looked at the dead woman, with pity for her and disgust at the person who would do such a heinous crime—her body was mutilated beyond recognition, her guts strewn upon the street. "God, she can't be older than twenty." He breathed, making Seamus jump.

It was eight years and a couple of months ago that the wizarding world had been freed of the fear and the cruelty that was Voldemort. His totalitarianism had nearly destroyed all that was good, until the final and fateful battle at Hogwarts and Potter's actions on that night and early morning had saved them all.

Draco had been captured but offered them a vast amount of information and the determination to fight for their side—for his family. After the war Draco, Harry Potter and numerous other young men joined the Auror Department in the Ministry and dutifully kept the wizarding world at peace—until this. Harry was working himself to the point of collapsing around the office out of exhaustion, never giving up the search for Hermione; Ron was grieving in his own way. Granger had gone AWOL about two days after the final battle and no one had seen or heard from her since; although it was rumoured she had spoken to Potter a month later, but Harry had repeatedly said he never remembered a conversation after her disappearance and his mind was searched to make sure he was not lying.

The Head of the Department practically had to Imperius Potter so that he would go home and gets some rest.

Draco reviewed what little evidence they had already, the only other connection with the murders was that all the women had at least one child, none of them were over the age of 10. He walked around the scene taking everything in. Something was amiss and he knew it, something _had_ to be out of place to lead them to the killer—at least this one time let there have been evidence.

As if his prayers were answered he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was a brown journal hastily stuffed into the sewer grate under the sidewalk, some yards away. He bent down and retrieved it. As he opened it a key he didn't see fell out and fell into the sewer below. He flipped through the pages and found notes on all the women that had been killed so far as well as pictures taken from behind bushes and hiding places—the pictures were moving, the killer was definitely a wizard (or witch). He was frustrated for on every page the dates, names, and every note was either in Ancient Ruins, or any other kind of language. Not one scrap of it was in English. He turned to the page of a woman after the current dead victim and saw the picture of a young red-haired woman leaving (What looked like a General Store) with a cup of coffee in her hand.

He didn't recognize the store or the woman but he snapped the book shut and returned to the current crime scene. He would need to show everyone in the Office this notebook. He observed the tattered bindings and symbols along the spine, he walked away from the grate and his footsteps echoed around the street as they hit the pavement.

He pushed his hair back over his eyes, slicking one half backwards and it stuck to his head because of the chilling moisture that hung in the cold night air. His breath came out in white puffs and his long black jacket was slightly wet.

They quickly wrapped up after an hour and apparated back to Headquarters. The body of the woman was taken to the St. Mungo's morgue area and the rest of them gathered everyone from the Auror Office to the Briefing Room; he noted Potter and Weasley weren't there. Many witches and wizards were still in their nightgown's (having been summoned from their homes); everyone was red-eyed and tired at that point and sat lazily around to listen to the Head of the Auror Department brief them in about the killer.

Draco rubbed his face and eyed the notebook he had yet to announce. He cleared his throat when the meeting turned to the matter of evidence. "Actually, I found something tonight. It'll help us immensely for the time being. It's a notebook, with recorded notes of the killers' actions."

"Well? Bring it forward, Malfoy!" Shouted someone from the crowd; he did so and stepped onto the podium and magicked the notebook to float past them, turning the pages.

"As you can see it's obviously going to need decoding so we need to have someone on that ASAP because on the latest page is going to be his next victim—who knows, he might've gotten to her already. The killer's getting sloppy and he might know it too, it could be a trap so we need to know everything about this journal."

An outburst happened before Draco finished his sentence. Some were arguing, some were thinking out loud as to where he might strike next and some were plain tired and shouting to go home and that only a select few were in on the case so why should they care?

"It could be your daughters!" Draco shouted—his voice amplified by the Sonorous spell. "Or it could be your sisters, mothers, daughters, wives, or cousins! **That** is why you should care!" He angrily stormed out of the Room and past the cubicles and towards his joint office. He was packing up the things he'd need for the night and was pulling his coat back on when he stepped out of his office and saw the entire Department eagerly awaiting him.

"You're right mate." Seamus Finnigan called and stepped forward with the notebook in his hands.

"What do you propose we do then?" the Head of the Department stated; for it was Draco's discovery of the evidence and he should therefore have the rights to see what gets done over the notebook.

Draco looked at all the tired faces and sighed. "I want that notebook copied and sent to every section of this Department, everyone's in on this now, it's all or nothing, we need all the help we can get and every code could mean a thousand different meanings. The original stays here under lock and key…Get it done then." He said with an air of his old Malfoy commands. They obliged willingly and scurried off in different directions to speak with whoever was in the Ministry at the present moment.

Draco walked with the Head of the Department, followed by Seamus, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot. Draco spoke softly so they couldn't be overheard but that was pointless because the entire Ministry was awake within five minutes.

"I need St. Mungo's in on this case as well—"

"Are you barking? You might as well announce it in the _Prophet_ what we're doing! You want the killer to know we're hot on his trail?" The Head said angrily, huffing and puffing as they climbed the stairs out of the Department, Draco was briefly reminded of a swollen eggplant.

Draco continued as if he hadn't been interrupted: "I need to know all the records they have on pregnant women matching the ages of the murdered victims, if any are coming in to have physicals what their names are who they're related to, everything." He picked up his pace and walked off towards the lifts and went up alone leaving the other men standing in the darkened corridor.

"I suppose so…" The Head said wearily, he assigned the men beside him to watch Malfoy: "And make sure he doesn't do anything stupid this time."

Draco used one of the fireplaces in the atrium to get to St. Mungo's which was bursting with activity, for there was a constant need for medical attention, many healers and many shifts, so St. Mungo's never closed its doors at any time of the day.

He glanced up at the grandfather-like clock hovering over the atrium of the hospital with four faces, each facing a direction so that anyone coming from any direction of the hospital could see the time. It read five AM. He sighed and briskly walked over to the Welcomewitch. She didn't look up when he stood waiting.

She blew a bubble and scratched something on the chart she was reading. He cleared his throat. "Check the board for what you need, sir." She said, persistently not looking up.

"I'm Draco Malfoy of the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic—"

She looked up, her green eyes wide with surprise and questioning.

"I need to speak to the Head Healer straight away if you please."

"He's quite a busy man Mr. Malfoy if you just fill out a form of request and have a seat we'll get back to you when he's free."

"No, no I don't have time for forms I need to see him now." He said, he felt his hands shaking slightly but he had to control himself, he could _not_ get angry. He shut his eyes when she continued to refuse him.

"If it's some sort of medical care Mr. Malfoy I'm sure we've got a handful of skilled Healers to fix you right up. Now just check the board—"

"I DON'T WANT TO CHECK THE FUCKING BOARD, GET HIM DOWN HERE NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?" He slammed his fist onto the countertop, and his shouting caused her break down into tears. She got up from her desk and ran. There were many people in the atrium and they were all staring at him and the noise that usually filled the hall was gone and quietness was deafening to listen to. The dimmed golden light gave them warm expressions but they were eerily silent and quietly judging him. He shut his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm himself. "Bloody hell, nice one Draco." He mumbled.

A few minutes later the noise had resumed as the Healers and the injured went about with their own business. Draco had his head bowed toward the receptionist's desk and had his arms crossed upon the sleek surface and when he heard hurried footsteps he looked up quickly.

The Head Healer was walking towards him and the Welcomewitch had a murderous look upon her face and seethed when they were beside Draco. He shook hands with the Healer and knew the Healer probably thought he was crazy because he started to ask him questions about his mental health.

"It's none of that, I'm part of the Auror Department in the Ministry and lately there have been a string of murders all over England and they've all been witches. They were all mothers and I needed to see all of their records if they were ever here, we need to know who's the next victim."

"Oh dear," the Healer breathed, taking out a handkerchief and mopping up his sweaty bald spot; Draco felt pity for the old man, for he was so frail and thin that Draco thought that one push would break him. "Why these women? And you have _no_ idea on who could be next?"

"Well we've got it down to: every pregnant witch in England, or any mother who was pregnant eight years ago." Draco said quite casually but at the same time seriously. The Healer looked faint. He wiped his head again and twiddled his wand nervously.

"Well I suppose we might as well start off with that paperwork…may I ask if you have your superior's clearance?" They both stood and were walking down the hallway and Draco stopped abruptly, making the Healer turn quickly, confused. Draco was staring straight at the floor with his hands in his pockets. He wanted to forge a document right then and there with his wand in his coat pocket but he refrained and looked up at the Healer.

"Can I get back to you on that? I'll come round again tomorrow, er, later today." He corrected himself after glancing at the clock—it was technically the 'next' day.

"Oh, very well then, I've got business to attend to today why don't you owl me a letter and schedule a time. I shall see you then, Mr. Malfoy." The Healer concluded shaking Draco's hand with his sweaty palm—Draco did his best to mask his repulsed face. And as Draco used the main entrance and exit of St. Mungo's, his 'team' arrived just as he disappeared in the crowd and they went to the teary Welcomewitch to see if their colleague had been there.

Draco was back at his flat that was located just on the other side of the Thames and he threw his coat against an armchair and gazed out the window at the Tower Bridge. The sunrise was rapidly covering ground and everything was nearly illuminated by natural light. He walked around his flat familiarizing himself with it as if he'd never been there before.

Indeed, it had been quite a long time since he'd been home and so everything he'd leave cluttered stayed as it was. He had no will power to lift his wand and make a sweeping motion to clear the mess. Discarded clothes lay on the couch, old post littered the floor, rotten and stale food was gathering insects and flies from a semi-open window in the kitchen. Dust gathered around countertops and desks, covering the frames in a centimetre of it, the frames that housed old moving pictures of moments long past and forgotten in his memory. He picked up one of them, it was a family portrait and he was in the centre. His parents gazed down their noses at big Draco and little Draco smirked. Big Draco smiled in remorse and self-pity. He placed the picture face-down and walked upstairs, removing his shirt in the process. He threw it and it landed at the head of the stairs.

There were only the bathroom and bedroom upstairs so it kept the flat cheap and small. He walked into the bathroom and turned the tap on cold. He cupped some water and stared at the water that was slipping away and into the drain; he cupped some more splashed it onto his face and slicked back his hair and then his hands came back down and wiped his tired eyes. He held his hands over his eyes for a while, the sound of the running water filling his ears. He sighed and turned off the tap and leaned on the plain countertop breathing slowly.

He turned away without looking at his ghastly reflection—he knew what he would see; but on his way into his bedroom the mirror across the room caught his glance reluctantly and he saw the glimpse of a man defeated but still believed he was fighting the battle.

An old scar from the battles of the past was a clear remnant across the left side of his chest. His body chiselled after training but not overly muscular, he was one of the few men who could look tall and slightly thin but also be strong and appealing. His tired, shadow-covered eyes raked his reflection until they came upon the ring that hung around his neck on a long string and rested against his cold flesh in the middle of his chest; somehow it was warmer than him.

Its intricate design captivated him and the silver caught the light when it was exposed. He picked it up off his chest and he felt a strange pull towards it, as though his body were unwilling to part with the trinket even for a few millimetres. A flood of broken pieces of memories flashed before him in his mind's eye but he couldn't put any of it together. He hastily dropped the ring and it landed safely on his skin and he felt complete.

He walked towards his bed and unexpectedly collapsed, falling asleep almost in an instant. The last thing he did was have one of his hands holding his wand and the other was grasping the ring and he felt content and _safe_ enough to fall asleep.

When he awoke he glanced at the clock and felt no justice, it was two in the afternoon and he was still insanely tired, for he had known if he'd allowed himself sleep he'd crave more. He suddenly remembered the woman beside him, she lay naked, half covered by his sheets and he tried to recall at what point he'd called her. It was just meaningless and he was trying to fill a black hole; a void of self-hatred. She woke up and rubbed his chest and tried to make love to him again he coldly pulled away from her, not looking her in the eye and said: "The money's on the table, take it and go."

She got up without complaint, dressed herself in her scant clothing before pulling her jacket on and grabbing the money greedily. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a while, thinking of all the nights he's spent without real love, he'd been with countless women after the war, far too many to remember—he even thought he'd gone through all the whores in London and that he was starting over again. It did not matter, his fate was to die alone, with the pleasure of a whore in his arms—only, the pleasure decreased with every woman—he felt now as though he were just doing it out of habit and he never really paid any attention anymore; he would black out and try to think of his slight amnesia from after the war, the Healers pegged it as something called Post-Traumatic Stress—a muggle ailment—but he knew it was something else. He pushed these thoughts from his mind.

Draco got up and took a quick shower, after that he pulled on a crisp, yet old, white dress shirt and black trousers; giving him a distinguished upper-class look. He combed his hair backwards away from his face and strands hung back down. He stuffed his pack of cigarettes into the pocket of his black trench coat along with his wand and lastly put on a pair of Aviators to blend into the crowd but also to soothe his aching eyes that were screaming in protest at being used for something other than being closed.

The warm sun encircled him once he was outside but a faint breeze from the Thames was wafting over and splashing tiny droplets on his face and coat. He turned on the spot and apparated right into the Ministry. He walked down the heavily crowded atrium and past the reconstructed Fountain of Magical Brethren—the statue of the wizard had been made in Potter's likeness—and into the lifts that were overflowing with witches and wizards; a flock of paper airplanes flew in and out before the lift doors shut and they rattled downwards.

A few in the lift were reading the _Prophet_,their noses in-between the pages, the paper covered their faces. They left the lift without looking up from their pages when the cool female voice announced the various departments. A witch in the corner eyed Draco and he gave her a sexy smile—she was quite attractive. But their flirting was cut short when the voice announced the Auror Department. He stepped out and the lift continued downwards. He walked slowly and tiredly and made his way past cubicles in the Office.

Many waved or called out a hello to him—_Merlin, why won't these idiots leave me alone? _He thought as he passed them until he reached his office. He threw his things down onto his desk and threw himself into his chair. He sighed and then reached over and pulled open a few drawers before finding what he was looking for.

He pulled out a stack of forms and set out on the long task of filling them out. When he was done he placed his quill back into its inkpot, his forefinger, thumb and middle finger covered with ink; he lifted the heavy stack off the table and practically ran from his dreary office. He walked through the cubicles until he reached the Head's office and didn't bother knocking, but walked straight in.

The Head of the Auror Department had apparently been speaking to his daughter (Draco couldn't remember if she was the legitimate one) and she looked him over when she was told by her father he would speak to her later. Draco in turn allowed his eyes to quickly rake her form but did not incline his head for his boss would have killed him then and there. The short blonde shut the door behind her.

"What is it, Malfoy?" He sighed wearily and then began the long process of lighting a cigar with matches—but he was getting nowhere—Draco took the opportunity and lit it for him using the lighter. The Head looked at it astonished.

"What in Merlin's name is _that_?"

"It's er…a lighter; muggles use them because they're getting too lazy to strike the match on the little box. Sir I came to you in this moment for a favour—"

"—you usually do—" the Head interrupted under his breath,

"—I need you to sign these forms allowing me to go over old records of patients at St. Mungo's; for the case." He added at the end.

The Head sat, unmoved by Draco's request and observed him for a while before he gave him his answer: "Only if you take your men with you."

"Absolutely, anything—"

"And that fancy…'lighter' was it?" He hinted, not so subtly. Draco pulled out the lighter and tossed it to the old man who caught it with glee and a puff of strong smoke. Draco felt nauseated from the cigar, he could only stand cigarettes and even those only when he was stressed (it's not like he was addicted…). The Head Auror signed the papers with his gold-feather quill and Draco grabbed the papers and rushed out of the office.

He looked them over to see if he'd signed his real signature and used his patronus (a wolf) to send a message to his 'partners' but he would be long gone before they got the message. He saw the lone wolf dart around the corner in its silvery brilliance and then he turned to use the lifts.

***

Draco rubbed his temples and threw down the paper he was reading rather roughly, damaging it. He sat in the large archive room in St. Mungo's and all around him were files piled up as high as the ceiling, filling the room. He'd removed his long coat and had unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and had rolled up his sleeves.

He was cursing the women; there were so many of them! He had seen their moving photographs smiling or looking serene in their files and he had a horrible feeling their time was short-lived.

"Oi!" Seamus and the rest of the men had just arrived. "Are you barking? Why didn't you wait for us?" He removed his jacket, as did the others, and they started to get down to work. Draco was losing hope; any one of the women could be next or even dead in that moment and they were wasting time.

"Potter came into work today, he's eager that we've made headway on the case." Dean said as he shuffled through two files at the same time, glancing at the important facts. Draco looked up at the group and contemplated. He got up and went across the room to the files he was not supposed to be looking at—daily records. He searched through the 'G' section and found her in a heartbeat. He pulled out Hermione Granger's file.

It was light and the record showed only one visit but its reason was undisclosed. He checked the date of the visit and found it to have been when they were teenagers, after the war. Of course Potter must have searched St. Mungo's records for any sign of her, she was gone, and they all had to admit that. There were many that were kidnapped after the war was over by crazed Death Eaters who still believed their Lord would come back.

Her moving picture smiled wearily at him and she crossed her arms proudly—same old Granger, he thought. Without knowing what he was doing he slipped her picture into his pocket and put her file back, then turned away from those records and back to his mission.

The men were laughing and joking with each other to pass the time but they found a few women who were candidates for the killer. "Anything on the journal yet?" Draco asked, distracting them from whistling rudely at the pictures of the 'sexy' mums.

"They said they'd send word as soon as they found something." One of them said flipping through the pages of one file.

"Here look at this 'un!" Shouted one of them and they clustered for a look and they wolf-whistled and cheered. Draco turned away and left the room. The hallway he stood in could fit an entire flat and a half, St. Mungo's was indeed the largest magical building in muggle dwellings. He pulled out a cigarette and another lighter, his spare, he brought his thumb down and the flame was a few millimetres away from the cigarette when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

A child was standing beside the large doorframe that lead off into another ward Draco was unfamiliar with. She was no more than eleven, he guessed. She stood there watching him with her large eyes, as if she'd never seen a grown-up before. He finished lighting his cigarette and walked towards her. She ran back down towards the ward from whence she came, and he followed for reasons unknown to even him. Weird noises were coming from this ward.

He heard it soon enough, babies, crying, they were in their little sections of boys or girls and parents were at the visiting rooms watching them and smiling, hugging each other lovingly. He turned away from the sight and saw that the little girl was gone. A lone mother stood behind the glass held by the beige stones of the St. Mungo's walls. He walked towards her and stood beside her, at first watching her—she had a serene look and she looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment.

He saw her child and felt his heart clench a little at the adorable display. The mother spoke, making him jump: "Do you mind? You're in the children's ward." She didn't sound angry and when he turned to face her she was staring pointedly at his cigarette. He took it out of his mouth hurriedly and extinguished it.

"Sorry."

He watched the child in its crib, crying slightly. He couldn't fathom the thought of making one of those. He would make a horrible father and he knew it—he'd probably end up just like his own father.

"Do you have any?" She asked kindly, gazing up at him—she was so short, in her ward slippers and robe.

"God, no." He snorted a laugh and she looked somewhat discouraged. "I mean, I know that I wouldn't be very good at it, I don't have any prior experience." He sounded as though he were listing his cons in a job interview. "D-do you?" His voice broke slightly as the baby stopped crying and smiled at the spectators.

"I have three." She smiled proudly.

He whistled, impressed, he couldn't marvel the amount of love she and her husband must have for each other to be able to have that many children—pure-blooded families only procreated to benefit future arranged marriages, and to ensure their legacy lived on in a son; his parents had stopped after he was born, they had their son and their heir. He subconsciously placed his hand on the glass, trying to reach out to the child. He smiled slightly and felt his heart melt into a sort of tranquil peace. He needed to have one of these—to secure his faith in himself and to secure the fact that his love was not being withered away with every woman he held in his arms.

Something snapped his attention back into the present, the child he saw earlier was on the other side of the glass and he jumped back in fear. The woman took no notice of the child. She frowned at his behaviour. "Are you alright?"

"Didn't you see her? She was right there, that child!"

The woman was getting alarmed for her safety and the safety of the babies and children in the ward. She probably thought that this man was wandering freely from the Psych Ward on another floor. She backed away slowly and said she'd get him help.

He rubbed his eyes and looked back at the room; the only person staring out from the glass was his own reflection. He was breathing heavily and walked away from the observation room, to find the child.

He saw her and he ran down the corridor; the tip of her hospital gown whipped around the corner, she was a blur of blonde hair and a white wispy-looking gown. Just as he turned the corner he had to skid to a halt for she stood in front of him, inches away. Her dark brown eyes were somewhat familiar—the ring on his chest burned and made him sag with weight. He was struggling to breathe and then it was all gone, a hand on his shoulder made him jump out of his trance. Seamus and the others had followed his trail.

His head swung around, looking for the girl, his eyes shooting from side to side like a madman. "Did you see her? She was right here!" He said hysterically. The others looked as though they were witnessing an execution; they were disgusted yet also empathic.

"We've got a lead Malfoy, one of the women, Seamus recognizes her name."

"Matilda O'Flaherty. Me mam was mentionin' Matilda back when we were in Hogwarts; she said it was brave of her to raise her child—as a single mother of eighteen. So she matches the type of women the killer goes after, and her picture in the journal is the same one as the medical file."

"Well what the hell are we standing around for? Let's go, do we have her address?" He was working hard to regain his composure.

"Sixty miles outside of Dublin, Ireland."

***

"We'll split up and cover more ground this way." Draco suggested, and when he saw their doubtful looks, he walked into the crowd of people in Dublin, Ireland. He hailed a taxi and confounded the driver to take him about sixty miles outside of Dublin. They needed to take cabs because they'd never been to her address and therefore could not visualize the setting.

As time passed Draco looked over the parchments they had on the killer and the latest decoding of the journal the rest of the Department was working on.

They decoded a phrase that had repeated on every page and found it to be a mix of Ancient Ruins, Egyptian and old Latin; it read: 'Better death than dishonour. Shame will forever befall her flesh and blood.' He rubbed his eyes as he scanned the moving pictures of the women, his eyes fell upon Matilda, he hoped she was still alive at the present moment; he was in desperate need to protect the women, and if it was—God forbid—too late he would set down his life to protect the next girl.

The girl after Matilda was not in the book, the next few pages were written in invisible ink and there were no pictures present. He stared out the drizzled window at the countryside. It was beautiful but dreary—the middle of nowhere. There were farmhouses and some villages, but all, dispersed.

The car had come to a stop but he had fallen asleep and he had not realized that he was in the village. All the buildings were clustered and some were attached to each other. He got out, pulled his bags from the trunk, and didn't bother to thank the confused driver.

The light drizzle covered his jacket and dampened his blond hair. He quickly made for the boardwalk and the squished buildings. They were all made of stone or heavy timber—strong against the elements—and there were few people outside, with umbrellas.

An open street market was bustling around the corner and there were more people on this side of the small town. The noise from the crowds, haggling, laughing and shouting, made him uncomfortable. He stood for a few minutes trying to figure out his next move. Then something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. A child standing under the cover of what looked like the General Store—Draco took in the surroundings feeling as though the town had not changed much since the 1800s—the child merely looked at him.

The rain was coming down harder and Draco frowned through the curtain of hail to the boy. He was no older than seven or eight at the least, his piercing gaze made Draco shudder. He suddenly ran off the porch of the Store and into the rain and down the street. Impulsively Draco ran after him.

The streets were emptying, the crowds bustling back to the shelter of their homes and businesses as the stall-keepers hurriedly covered their possessions. The rain was pounding the top of Draco's head like a hammer, worse than a hangover but he persistently ran after the boy who turned another corner. Draco nearly slipped in the gathering mud as he tried to catch up to the boy.

He had run up some stone steps to the largest building Draco had seen in the town so far, and disappeared behind the door. Draco stopped in his tracks, across the street from the building. It was an old hotel, attached to which was an antique store, complete with a tavern on Draco's side of the street. He drew a breath and walked towards the antique store first.

The small bell _dinged_ when he opened the ancient wood-framed glass door. The air was thick and hardly any light made its way into the store completely; the ceiling was too low for him but he paid it no attention. The store was full from top to bottom and every corner was occupied by an aging item.

From furniture to jewellery the store seemed to posses any item that had been untouched since the turn of the century. He was lost in the providence of certain items. He made his way deeper into the store, eyeing the jewellery encased in thick glass boxes that served as countertops.

He noted a frame with no door to his left that led into the lobby of the cozy-looking hotel and spotted the boy at the bottom of the main staircase. He ripped his gaze away from the soaking child and made it look as if he were interested in the rings under the countertop. He brought his hand gently over the silver bell to call for service, and he heard hurried footsteps over the soft carpets in the hotel approach the store as soon as he rang it twice.

"Aeron, you get your sopping self up those steps, go on! Get cleaned up ye silly boy." The sound of an angry Irish woman filled the lobby and Draco never let his eyes wander in curiosity until she came into the shop. She plastered a smile over her furrowed brow as she spotted Draco, leaning sideways against the counter. He noted a look quickly pass over her face as she looked at his but it was covered up quickly.

"G'day sir, what can I do for ye?" Her Irish burr was thick and her voice husky but he gave her a dazzling smile. "Me name's Ida, we haven't had too many tourists here," she laughed a husky laugh, "can I offer you a room to board?"

"Actually, I need a few for my colleagues; they'll be joining me shortly. I haven't seen many people in the town…" He wanted to get something on the child, weather it had been Matilda's or not.

"This damned weather, sir; I assure you the townsfolk are priceless, much like those rings you were eyein' before I came in." Her aged brown eyes reminded him of someone…

"I was actually trying to find an old friend…Matilda O'Flaherty, do you know her."

Instantly the older woman's face fell, she dropped her head, her dimmed red hair that was flecked with grey fell forward, curtaining her face. "Poor Mattie, she…she's passed away. Just yesterday."

Draco tried very hard not to slam his fist on the counter, his jaw furiously clenching and unclenching as he kept all his anger at bay. Ida who was older than his own mother could not be the child's mother, she could've been but there was no ring around her finger—he didn't make any assumptions but she asked: "How did you know her?"

"Friend of a friend, I heard she came back here and was happily with child." He added subtly. He realized his voice was showing almost no attachment for a girl he was supposed to have known.

"Aye, she had a child, but poor child, she was taken away so early…"

"I couldn't help but notice, that young boy…" he drifted off, eyeing the rings again.

"Aeron? Mattie's child? Oh no, the young boy was sent off to live with his grandparents. Aeron's just another child in this town, fortunately, he still has his family." She took note of Draco's frustrated face.

"I didn't catch ye'r name sir."

"Draco Malfoy. I know Seamus Finnigan."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh! Little Seamus, how's the lad?"

"He's perfectly fine." They were getting off topic. "I wanted to um, make amends to Matilda…"

"The service will be held in two days, her parents need to make the necessary arrangements. Would like a room to stay?" She was moving from behind the counter and towards the door that lead into the lobby of the hotel. Draco remained rooted.

He saw a ring that caught his eye and it seemed to hook him there, he wanted it. He wasn't particularly sure why and for who but he was sure that he needed it.

Ida's eyes followed his gaze. She smiled, "Would you like something from the Shoppe as well Mr. Malfoy?"

His expression didn't waver. "No, not yet, just a room for now." He followed her into the warmer lobby of the small hotel and she moved behind an old wooden concierge desk and was filling in parchments of information. He signed where he was supposed to and was awaiting his key.

"Any room for your friends?" She asked politely.

"No." He didn't go into detail. Since Matilda was dead he wanted some time to think of the next move, without the chaperones around. He heard someone moving around down the small hallway behind the desk, and some voices. His eyes flickered towards the darkened hallway, interested.

Ida sighed in frustration and excused herself for a moment. "Do you know where the key for room four is?" She asked the other person as she walked down the hallway and turned right into an antechamber. He heard the other person's voice more clearly when it was hushed, it was a woman's.

"Oh yes that's right. Thank you dear, could you prepare the dining room when you're all done here?" She added as she walked back towards Draco, holding an ancient bronze key in her hand. "Now, all I need is the number of days you'll stay then, love." She had her pen poised over the paper, gazing at him expectantly.

He snapped his attention back to her. "Indefinite."

She wrote something down and was explaining the rules and places he could go, and the dangers of the wild animals they sometimes got at night.

The other person had finished whatever they were doing in the back and had loaded what sounded like dishes onto something before moving out of the room.

Ida handed him the ancient-looking key. "Enjoy your stay Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank—"

A crash sounded and they both looked towards the source of noise. The other person had dropped the tray of china and silverware. She was on her knees immediately, attempting to clean it up, her long hair covered her face. Draco was extremely curious and cursed the dimmed lighting of that hallway for hiding identifiable features.

"Jean, dear, it's alright, go take Aeron up, Adwen's still awake, go on, I've got this mess, and just show Mr. Malfoy up to his room." The other girl froze. She muttered something to Ida that Draco couldn't make out, if he could see her face he could have easily read her lips—one of the many Auror perks—but he turned his back on the pair and sighed with faked exhaustion. The day had gone and outside, the lights lit up in various houses and businesses. He saw the tavern across the street open its doors for a late night.

"Follow me." The girl called Jean said, he turned but she was already hurrying up the steps. He quickly followed. There was something about her brisk walk that made him frown in memory. He watched her from behind and smirked at how nice her butt was.

They were at his door in moments but Draco couldn't remember how they got there. She was in front of him one moment and she mumbled something about having a good stay before she was behind him, descending the stairs, her skirt and hair billowing.

He would have to see her sometime; he thought she was repulsed by him and that thought made him angry, he was certainly good-looking—his ego was getting bruised. She wouldn't be able to keep this game up for long. He smiled; it was a long time since he'd played a game.

He stepped into the small room and heard his shoes once he'd hit the wooden floor, and looked down. They were covered in mud and so was the bottom of his trench coat. He'd kicked up rain and mud. He cleaned the floor and his clothing and shoes with magic. He took out his luggage from his pockets and set them on the bed before using the Engorging Charm.

He leaned beside his window, watching the street below. The rain had stopped and so, many people were out once more. Many were filing into the tavern across the street. He needed to do a background check on the last few days to see if anyone suspicious had checked into town; or anything that could be linked to Matilda's death. If she had just died yesterday then he was hot on the killer's trail. He couldn't waste time in this room.

He grabbed his coat once more and flung it on as he turned left from his room and down the hall slightly to reach the staircase on the right. Something caught his eye and he turned to look. A little girl was standing in the doorway of another room, in her nightgown, her eyes wide. Draco rolled his eyes, was he some sort of child magnet? Or was his conscious trying to tell him to give up his 'bachelor for life' act?

She was holding a blanket up to her cheek in fright. It was the girl in the Children's Ward—or, she could be a sister, she was younger than the one he'd chased in St. Mungo's. Draco made to move towards her but she took a step back, her curly blonde hair moving slightly. He gave her a hesitant smile and then asked: "Shouldn't you been in bed by now?" He didn't have any parenting skills but he guessed that because she was in her nightgown and it was dark that she _should_ have been in bed. She was braver now and nodded. He walked towards her and crouched.

Her warm brown eyes were staring into his grey ones with wonder. "What's your name?"

"Adwen." She whispered.

"And where is your mum?" He asked, in a whisper, he didn't know what had come over him.

"Downstairs." She had a lisp because of the few fallen baby teeth.

"Well I don't think she'd be very happy if you weren't in bed."

The door creaked open further and another child emerged. It was the young boy that led Draco to the hotel. His brown hair was slightly curly and still wet from a bath; he was rubbing his eyes, clearly awoken from their conversation. When he stopped rubbing his eyes and opened them Draco teetered dangerously on the balls of his feet at the sight. He had piercing grey eyes.

Draco stood up abruptly, making the children stumble back in fear, as he stood at his full height. He turned on his heel and practically flew down the stairs; seeing something in the corner of his eye he guessed it was Jean but he didn't stop.

Ida was sitting in the parlor reading a book by the fireplace. She looked up at his heavy footsteps. "Going out Mr. Malfoy?"

_Goddamn nosey, annoying…_"Yes, across the street, to the tavern."

"Don't stay out too late, I lock the doors when we all go to bed." She warned, her motherly tone breaking past the friendly façade.

"Is there any way I can get a key, I _will_ be out late." His voice was menacing and he didn't know why he was suddenly so angry; his hands were balled into fists, shaking.

She stood and walked past him to the check in desk and rummaged around under some things. She pulled out a key and handed it to him with a stern look on her face.

"Don't make this a habit. Be sure to say hullo to Thomas."

He didn't have the faintest idea of whom that was and didn't even say thank you before he rushed out the front, through a small antechamber where they would hang coats and such and out the door. He practically ran across the street and only glanced behind him once. The children's faces were pressed against the window looking at him. He swerved his head around to face the tavern, and nothing but the tavern in front of him. He breathed slowly, trying to keep his anger under control. He needed a plan, first things first.

Once he walked into the tavern he felt instantly better…maybe going out for a drink when he was recovering…no, he wasn't going to drink. He was going to ask questions as casually as possible, this was _business. _He found an empty stool amongst the brawling men, their shouting and laughter was raucous. They clinked their large beer mugs—that resembled barrels—together in salutes for the night, hailing each other loudly over the live music (a few fiddlers playing Irish jigs), a few couples were dancing drunkenly but still in time to the music. The few women in the tavern were laughing and sitting astride the laps of their men. The bar looked like it was something out of the sixteenth century.

Draco felt out of place, his pale skin seemed to feel as though it were radiating a beacon; everyone was tanned from the hard, back-breaking work they did in the daytime, and the tavern was the social gathering centre of the town. The barman came over to serve Draco from behind the counter and he was stereotypically cleaning out a mug with a rag.

"Thomas I presume?" Draco asked, over the noise. The young man nodded in recognition and extended his hand towards Draco. Thomas was probably the same age as Draco but he still felt like he was older than the barman. He shook it quickly and let his hand drop.

"Not from 'round here are ye?" He asked loudly with a smile still plastered across his face. He shook his red hair out of his eyes as he leaned against the sturdy wooden counter.

"No, just came to pay respects." That was all he needed to say, Thomas' face instantly sobered and he clenched his jaw.

"Mattie?"

Draco didn't answer.

Thomas stood back a little and poured a shot glass for him. He then cleared his throat loudly and—miraculously—everyone was quiet, the players, the dancers, the guests. "To Mattie." Thomas said solemnly and everyone raised their drinks in silent tribute, many scrambled to share drinks from their neighbours in her honour, they didn't want to be singled out. Draco drank his whisky and placed the glass face down.

"I was wondering…do you have anything stronger than this? Firewhisky maybe?" He hinted every so subtly, he needed to know if this was a magical dwelling, and if not then Thomas would simply think he misnamed some drink.

He laughed and said: "Aye I've got the strong stuff. Ye're a wizard then I presume?" He turned around, his back to Draco, as he pulled out a bottle from the shelf behind the counter against the wall, and another glass.

"So this is a magical dwelling? It's quaintly small."

"Aye, we only get a few muggles out every now and again but we do a fine job disguising the fact that we wield wands." He winked at the joke Draco didn't find funny and poured him his Firewhisky.

"So has there been anyone in town, within the last few weeks, someone you thought was a little guarded?" He needed another shot, but he willed himself to drink the whisky slowly.

Thomas leaned against the counter once more and nodded quietly, looking around. "There were a few blokes who came out from Dublin askin' questions but none stayed too long. You'll need to ask Ida if any of them stayed at the Inn. Can't be too sure, we get too many drifters comin' and goin'. Why the interest?"

Draco clenched his jaw, this bloke was going to be annoying, well Draco knew he was annoying from the moment he saw his face but he had wanted to give him a chance—part of his anger-management—it hadn't worked. Now he was annoying as well as useless. He sighed.

"I'm here to honour Matilda, but also to investigate."

"You're an Auror?" His green eyes were wide with disbelief. "How's Mattie's death a Ministry matter?" He was smarter than he looked and Draco sighed again, draining his glass. Thomas poured him another.

"It's an interest because her death is just another in a string of femicides by a killer who is practically invisible."

Thomas' mouth was hanging open slightly and Draco was reminded of Weasley's stupid face.

"I just need some information about the past week or two, anything you can remember. Or anyone here." He added doubtfully.

"Sure, I'll see what I can dredge up, make yerself at home, and ask away. The folk 'round here are _too_ observant." He waved his hand out, his ring catching the light. It was an insignia for a men's league—Draco knew this because his father used to be in a league as well. Now that he'd noticed it he saw it on the fingers of a few other men.

Draco spun in his stool and faced the crowd. It had grown since he'd arrived an hour ago. He drained his third glass and filled up once more, it was going to be a long night.

***

She saw him from her bedroom window. She made sure the kids were tucked in and then made her way downstairs, shaking slightly with anger.

He wobbled dangerously as he left the bar. Many late-goers were leaving; their weight supported by their partners as Thomas and his crew laughingly waved them all goodnight, making jokes about the coming day.

Draco was too drunk to know the time but he guessed it was very early in the morning. He couldn't believe he had gotten drunk. He was trying so hard to recover, his alcohol, smoking, anger. The Department was on his ass faster than he could manage to get himself out of bed and they were keeping tabs from St. Mungo's, checking his blood-alcohol level every now and then. He stumbled and fell. "Fuck".

He then realized he was already on the other side of the street. He had stumbled on the first step of the Inn. He climbed on all fours up the stairs, helping himself balance. The cold Irish breeze made him shiver. He finally made it to the door but he couldn't remember how to get in. He jiggled the heavy brass door-handles for a full minute, not comprehending and then gave up. He slumped against the door and on the floor, one knee raised and one arm resting on it.

Then he was weightless for a moment as the door opened and he fell at someone's feet. They gasped and kicked him off slightly. He grumbled and shifted off onto the stone porch. He looked up, his head spinning. A woman was standing with her hands on her hips in a familiar fashion he couldn't quite place; it reminded him of his stern mother.

She bent down to look at him, the darkness obscured her face. He reached out and grabbed her by the back of her neck and brought her towards him, she lost her balance and landed on her knees, hard. She gasped in pain and he tried to kiss her for a reason that was lost to him.

She pulled away and slapped him, muttering something unintelligible in his state of mind. He sighed and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He took one and put it in his mouth, and with his lighter started to light it. She yanked it out of place between his dry lips and threw it onto the street. He ignored her and pulled out another one. She did the same thing. He pursed his lips at the wave of anger that was building up. He stopped for a moment. He could hear her heavy breathing—her _angry_ breathing—and he almost laughed before he pulled out a third cigarette. It didn't even make it to his mouth this time. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at him. He felt another wave of stupidity hit him as he tried to reach for his wand. He heard a _swish _and saw a_ flick_.

He was again weightless, but this time he was drifting in front of the girl and into the Inn. He realized she was levitating him. He let his head loll lazily as he enjoyed the ride up the stairs and into his room.

He hit the bed rather hard and he groaned in anger. He felt a tugging as his shoes came off and then he felt her hands on his chest and he laughed drunkenly and reached for her, glad he was getting some night-time pleasure. She grimaced in disgust and yanked his coat off harshly. She rolled him to his side so he wouldn't choke on his own bile and left the room in a huff. He shut his eyes and his brain shut down all awareness for the next few hours.

***

The sunlight that burst into his room made him start awake and he fell off the bed with a loud thump against the floor. He groaned and clutched his head in pain. There was fuzziness on his tongue and he was unwilling to open his eyes.

An hour later he was washed and dressed and seated in the dining room. He picked up the morning's edition of _The Prophet_ and propped it open against his table. He heard the tinkle of plates from the kitchen and hushed talking. Then someone laughed. He bent one corner of the paper by moving his finger slightly to peer over the paper, and then straightened it again by readjusting the paper with a _slap_ sound.

Draco heard the swinging door of the kitchen open and then someone walking around the tables setting up; were there more guests? He wondered silently. Someone set a plate in front of him and his utensils and then she laughed when she caught sight of him.

"Rough night Mr. Malfoy?" Ida asked her husky voice full of mockery. She looked pointedly at his face and he sighed, eyes never leaving the paper. "I didn't know it was so sunny in the Inn, would you like the shades down?" She could hardly contain her glee at the sight of his Aviators.

"I'm fine thank you." He replied stiffly, his body language and voice giving her a hint.

"Well you just wait until you've got some food in ye."

"I'm greatly looking forward to that." He said sarcastically, but in truth he was ravenous. Draco waited another few minutes before Ida came bustling out again and set his plate of food down. He smelled it and he forgot the question he was going to ask Ida. He put the paper down and she nearly laughed at his face. He could hear movements in the kitchen but he looked down at his meal.

"An Irish Breakfast: sausages, black and white pudding, bacon, and fried eggs. I've put out some soda bread for ye in this container here," she pointed to a glass box in the shape of toast, "some hash browns in this one, brown sugar in that, cream, milk and yer coffee or juice," she pointed to various items before wiping her hands on her apron and then placing them on her hips. "Enjoy the Chub! Just holler if ye need something dear."

"You've outdone yourself Ida, thank you. I hope you won't be offended if I don't finish the whole thing?" He was already digging in, stuffing his face with eggs and sausage, cramming in the hash browns. He heard her chuckle.

"I can cook but I'm no chef! This was all Jean's doing." He heard her leave and he immediately froze, the fork halfway to his already full mouth, bits of egg falling off the fork.

His eyes wide, he tried to spit out what he had half-swallowed and ended up nearly choking. He pounded his chest and gulped down the juice. He gasped as the giant lump of food made its way slowly down his oesophagus. He coughed a couple more times and his eyes were watering. He took his sunglasses off unwillingly to wipe his eyes and he caught sight of someone watching him. He looked through the blurriness but he needed a tissue to clear the wetness.

Once his eyes could see the person was gone. He was sure it was Jean, making sure she'd poisoned him. He only just remembered the way he treated that woman last night and the only logical answer as to who it was had been staring him in the face. How could he be so drunkenly stupid? He could hold his liquor, so how much did he drink last night? He shook the thought out of his head, not wanting to get into numbers. It was that idiot's fault, what's his name, Thomas, he'd gotten him drunk for the purpose of exploiting his reasons for being in the village.

The tinkling of utensils brought him back to Earth. He looked to his left and saw the two kids sitting at a table, with one table in between them and Draco. They stopped and stared at him—these kids needed to go out more often—he stared right back.

Adwen had her long blonde curls pulled up into a ponytail which showed her face more clearly to him than the night before; her pointed nose was probably the focal point but her brown eyes were wide once more, except that this time they held a sort of kindness that melted his heart.

He couldn't—_wouldn't_—face Aeron. The young boy had shaken Draco's nerves last night and made him scared. He wasn't sure why. He took a breath, he was being cowardly he reminded himself, so he stole a glance at the boy.

Aeron wasn't scared of Draco, only intrigued. His slightly wavy brown hair was combed to the side slightly—a poor attempt to tame it—and he shared his sister's nose. Draco couldn't bear to look into those too-familiar eyes. He wondered if his father ever had a sexual tryst with some woman from Ireland—but the chances were too improbable. He racked his brain to remember his _own_ trysts.

They were dressed nicely, Adwen in a simple light green dress with stockings and white dress shoes. Aeron was wearing a dress shirt tucked into black dress pants and children's loafers. He was swinging his legs enthusiastically under the table and Draco felt one corner of his mouth pull up in an awkward attempt at a smile.

He looked to the paper again and noticed that today was Sunday. They were going to church. _How traditional of them_, he thought with a mental smirk. He continued to read the paper, wondering where the hell the church was in that godforsaken town.

He didn't seem to have been poisoned by Jean so he finished his meal and was content with a full stomach. Ida collected his plates and he stood. He noticed she was also dressed for church.

"Going for a walk Mr. Malfoy?"

_Couldn't they mind their own business?_ He thought with an urge to shout it.

"Yes, I thought I'd talk to some of the, er, townsfolk."

"Oh you won't find anything open, everyone'll be at the church, it's Sunday." She stated the date as if he were stupid.

"Yes, I saw in the _Prophet_. Speaking of which, I didn't know that this town was magical. Why didn't you mention it?" He interjected, trying to throw her off.

"It's of no importance to me, I'm a squib, and if we ever got any muggles to stay I can't very well go off blabbering 'bout it!" She collected the last of the plates and tucked the _Prophet_ under her arm—not asking if he was finished with it. "Will you be joinin' us?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"To church, will you be joining us and the rest of town in church this fine day." It was a statement, not a question. She let her eyes bore guilt-beams into his soul which would be damned to hell if he didn't go.

He was going to hell anyway.

He was reluctant to answer. He smirked and moved away from the table, not bothering to put the chair in.

"I can't help but wonder what yer going to do for the next three hours?" She said to his back as he was leaving the dining room. He paused, cursing a million profanities in his head at this woman.

"Joining you at church of course." He said with a sickly sweetness that was clearly a façade. She was delighted.

"Wonderful, I'll just let Jean know we're locking up the Inn for the morning." She disappeared before he could say another word, which was fine with him. This old woman spoke too much for his liking. Even his own mother—of the same age—knew when to hold her tongue. But perhaps that was because an evil wizard that was bent on destroying a boy would have incinerated her in a heartbeat had she commented on anything.

"Is he coming with us mummy?" Aeron whispered, too loudly for Draco to ignore, but he simply stood in the doorway to the dining room with his back to them and his hands in his pockets.

"He's scary mummy." He heard Adwen say. Then, he presumed, Jean spoke, too low and too fast for him to catch. If he had been facing her he could have read her lips.

"Here darling, put this on, Aeron come on, grab your coat just in case and wait for Ida by the door. Adwen, I've got your gloves here darling, and your hat, we don't know if it's going to be too sunny today."

Draco snorted at her over-protectiveness and there was stillness and quiet behind him. He watched Aeron file past him slowly, his body stiff, his head slightly turned as if he wanted to see Draco but was too afraid to look. He was slightly clumsy as he tried very hard not to stumble over his feet…

He heard two sets of footsteps—another perk of years of Auror training, he finally understood why they needed to know so much—one was light-footed and lithe, he presumed was Adwen, the other heavier but also clumsy like Aeron, this was Jean. They walked straight past him and Draco cleared his throat.

Jean stopped but did not turn; she moved her head so that he glimpsed her profile. "It seems you're joining us today Mr. Malfoy." She said icily. She hadn't forgiven him for last night.

"It appears so." What a stupid reply.

She didn't speak again but waited by the door for Ida with her back to him. He took her appearance in. She was wearing a modest sundress in the colour of light green like Adwen, but from the waist down there were slashes and another colour, yellow, was pulled through. She wore her hair up and it was concealed by a sun hat.

_How do they think it's going to be a sunny day in a dreary countryside in Ireland! _He felt like shouting but he kept his anger in check.

The dress reached her shins and she modestly wore a thin light yellow cardigan to cover her exposed back and arms. She was so unpretentious it made him want to vomit. She reminded him of someone though…

The whole setup looked like something out of the 1950s, complete with white gloves on Adwen's part. He hoped Jean wouldn't pull out gloves of her own. He noticed he looked underdressed compared to the Brady Bunch over there but he was sure the other men of the town wouldn't be so traditional.

Ida finally came downstairs and was wearing something that _was_ from the 50s and they all shuffled quickly outside, Draco strolling along behind. She locked the Inn and they all made their way down the street. He wondered where the church was. Draco saw many of the town's people moving in the same direction, and a few late-risers just leaving their homes, grabbing coats just in case it rained. Didn't anyone have a muggle car? Or couldn't they just apparate there? Merlin, he was getting lazy.

They rounded a corner and the giant stone church came into view, its stained-glass windows shimmering in the sunlight. He was surprised the weather was this nice, and so he was not looking forward to spending the next three hours in a stuffed church. Everyone was crowding in through the entrance, many stayed outside to chat with others before the sermon and there were a few well-dressed children running around, their mothers threatening them if they ruined their clothes.

He glanced at Jean and saw she was holding both of her children's hands firmly within her own, on either side of her, and they were trying to keep up with her mad-dash for the church. He chuckled but it was lost on the wind.

They made their way inside, Ida stayed to chat with a few people outside. He didn't know why he felt compelled to follow Jean; he had the instinctive male urge to protect her and the 'young'. Even though being in a church was probably as safe as one could be he still felt obligated.

She made her way all the way to the front of the church, trying desperately to find good seating—he hated people like that. It was no different than in school, why would you want to be in the front, when the same thing is happening at the back, only less people are paying attention? But he doubted any of these townsfolk would _not_ pay attention.

Aeron had wanted to sit by the aisle so he did, and then went Adwen and then Jean who removed her and her daughter's hats. He stood awkwardly. There was a small divider in the long pew for the next set of four or five people and he didn't want to squish in beside the already uncomfortable Jean. Aeron saw him singled out and so he moved over. Draco liked this boy, he reminded him of himself, always picking the right friends, the right connections.

He smiled and sat down. He saw through his peripheral vision Jean staring him down, probably with a horrified look on her face.

They looked like a family in the pew; well, if Jean wasn't throwing daggers at Draco they could have pulled it off. Except for the minor detail of clothing; he instantly regretted coming. He was the most underdressed person in the whole church. His jeans and button up dark blue shirt—that was _not_ tucked in—seemed to be a beacon of gossip. Jean was facing forward, refusing to look at him any longer. He ignored the hushed whispers around him and faced her.

Again he was dealing with her profile—she had a very angelic face, even though she was a little demonic with her temper—her brown hair was pulled back away from her face and forced into a tight bun behind her, it didn't sparkle as if it were glossy, something he'd seen many girls have, but it was as if she didn't care who saw her, or commented on her hair. He gave her credit for looking somewhat respectable.

The church seemed to be nearing its maximum limit because it was stifling; Draco undid a button or two and received a glare from an older woman across the aisle. Aeron saw this and let out a boyish giggle before attempting to do the same. Draco shook his head, the expression on his face was frightened, and he didn't want to have to deal with Jean.

Where was Ida? Damned old hag…

A hush settled over the church as everyone took their seats and the sermon began. A few women had hand-held fans and he rolled his eyes; once they got back outside it would be coat-mania. Ireland was _not_ hot, even in the summer it still had some cold breezes, right?

He was daydreaming so rapidly he didn't notice the whole crowd cross themselves as they rose out of their seats. Draco got the gist and got up too late. He reached out and grabbed the pew in front, hoisting himself up with a slight groan that was loud in the quietness of the church. This issued a whole new set of glares. He needed damage control. He glanced at Jean who was looking directly at the pastor. He sighed and bowed his head to listen.

He vowed to God he would find the killer and save these innocent people and the best place to start looking for clues was Mattie's house—

They were all seated again and he felt Aeron tug on his shirt to make him sit as well. Draco wholeheartedly did so; he was failing miserably at paying attention, but how could he when the killer could still be here? He doubted that. They would have been long gone the moment they killed the poor girl.

He needed major damage control before his partners showed up, starting with Athena herself…

He stole another glance at Jean but found her whispering to her neighbour, she was leaning slightly to the left; the whole thing was so subtle that if you weren't facing her it wouldn't have looked like she was doing anything but paying attention.

Draco took this opportunity and leaned down to Aeron and spoke softly. "How old is your mum?" He didn't know why that was the first question he should ask about this woman but he felt she was probably in danger, being a single mother with the killer around—or not around…

Aeron bit his lip…he didn't know. That was alright; when Draco was seven he didn't know his mother's name, surprised it was anything other than 'Mum', let alone knowing her age. He settled on another solution.

"Do you know how to find Ida after this is over?"

He nodded. Good.

"Find her and I'll escort your mum back home alright?" He nodded again but Draco got the feeling he was being watched so he looked up and saw Adwen eyeing him suspiciously. He straightened and watched Jean out of the corner of his eye. He could see her lips—_Yes!_—he focused on them and found them a little distracting, they were so…_yummy_. He snapped out of it and zeroed in on her words.

"_He's really quite atrocious I have no idea who he is or where he came from. I fear for my children's safety."_

The other woman said something before,

"_Yes, this is altogether too strange, first that other drifter two weeks ago and then he fell off the face of the Earth and now __**him**__." _

She stole a glance at the pastor, then Draco. The other woman said something before Jean replied,

"_That's too kind of you Eloise, but I have Ida and I'm quite a capable witch, I did go to Hogwarts after all, studied from the best—_

He coughed, a little too loudly but he quickly made it look like he was praying, he brought his hands—clasped—to his forehead and he shut his eyes, leaning forwards. He needed to collect his raging thoughts that were bounding around in his brain, threatening to explode.

She went to Hogwarts, something about her was familiar, her walk, her anger, her hair, lips, nose; he shut his eyes tighter to stop his brain from imploding. It couldn't be, could it? He had to be sure. But there was an element in his brain that was blank, just like after the War was over, he couldn't remember anything for days, maybe a week, they had chalked that up to PTS; he was now thinking otherwise.

They rose a few more times before the pastor wished them all well etc. etc. and a reminder of Matilda's passing, for which they had five minutes of silence. Draco being the impatient child he was, danced on the balls of his feet, anxious for it to be over. He was surprised the three hours flew by so fast.

Once it was he glanced at Aeron who nodded and grabbed his sister's hand; he explained he wanted to play with the other kids outside the church and Draco gave him credit for lying, he didn't think he was capable.

Jean gathered their things but remained in the pew until everyone was gone. Draco hung back at the back of the church, beside the confessional booths. She put her face in her hands and leaned forward to the pew in front of her and sank to her knees. She was shaking slightly, and Draco realized she was crying. He walked slowly over to the shadows and remained there.

It was a few more minutes before she breathed deeply, some sobs escaping, and got up. She was wiping her face and so she didn't see Draco grab her arm and wheel her into the shadows with him. She tried to scream but he covered her mouth.

"It's just me." He said turning her around. She was breathtaking.

The tear-streaks added to her beauty. But Draco didn't know why he was so captivated with her; she was so average-looking compared to all the model girlfriends he'd dated and all the prostitutes he'd had. There was a virgin vulnerability that enthralled him and there was also the fact that he'd just found her.

"Granger." It wasn't a question. He reached around to the back of her head and undid her bun. He ran his finger through her hair slowly, sensually. Her hair spilled around her shoulders and slightly down her back. They weren't the bushy curls he remembered, but slightly wavy now. If her hair hadn't changed, she would be the Granger he knew, only as a woman.

Her warm brown eyes that used to so frequently throw ice at him were vulnerable and mature now. _Her body's certainly mature_, he thought. He traced her lips with his eyes and found himself longing to touch them, as if it were the Forbidden Fruit.

"Why are you crying?" Of the _millions_ of questions he had, he asked that.

"Because you're here, you've found me. How long do I have before Harry or Ron show up?"

"I'm not here with them, we're—the Department—is investigating a string of murders, your little Mattie's one of them." _Good God, they've got me saying her name like that now._ She frowned.

"So you didn't know I was here?" She was confused and he could feel her fright ebb away as it was replaced by anger, anger at herself for getting caught.

"No, not until this morning, I guess I knew when I got here but my brain's been a little dull."

"It's always been dull Malfoy."

He let that one slide.

"So it was you who dropped the china at the sound of my wonderful voice."

"Just when Ida said your name, I thought you'd been Lucius."

"Why did you lie?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"When you were talking to Eloise, in the pew…you said you didn't know me." He took in her flabbergasted expression with smugness. "I was reading your lips." He interjected her thoughts he knew were wheeling around trying to make logical sense of things. His eyes dropped to her lips for only a second.

She pursed them.

"Well?" He prompted.

"I don't want to be associated with you. You'll give me away; I guess that's what you'll do now?"

"Why are you hiding?"

"Why do you care?" She snapped. He realized he was still holding her close, almost against him, and she pushed away.

"Hermione." She almost turned back to him at the softness of his voice. "You've been missing for seven years. Why did you run away, everyone thought you were dead? Potter and Weasley may as well have had heart-attacks."

"I needed to disappear. Something happened to me. And I—I couldn't face it."

His brain knew what she was talking about but he pushed it out of his thoughts. "Ida?"

"Distant relative of Ron's mum. She was the only magical person I could trust to help me. I-I was too scared to face it alone."

His heart was throbbing with…sympathy? A crackle of thunder brought them back to the present and he gestured. "Shall we finish this back at the Inn?"

He walked under the rain without a jacket but Hermione used the coat she brought and was trying not to get her feet stuck in the gathering mud. The rain pelted hard against them like bullets but Draco didn't mind. He was ahead of her when he realized she'd stopped. He turned and found her trying to dislodge her foot from a thick mud puddle. He turned back to help her. He yanked her foot out easily but it was covered in mud from her toes to mid-shin. She'd lost one of her flats. He picked her up easily using his strong arms and kept walking for the Inn. She was deeply embarrassed, and kept mumbling about the neighbours. He winked, "Let's give them a show."

She pursed her lips again but she didn't struggle at being carried the rest of the way. She detangled herself from him before he'd set her down on the stone porch of the Inn, the canopy shielding them from rain.

"So you're going to tell everyone now?" She asked, her voice choking up in her throat which felt like it was throbbing from the tears not yet spilt.

He stared deeply into her eyes and she was mesmerizing him; she quickly turned away from him but he caught her wrist, making her spin, and her wet hair flying back around. He brought her close to him, so close that she could feel his breath on her ear, he meant to kiss her but he did something much more intimate.

"_No." _

She was taken aback but he ignored her expression and walked inside the toasty Inn. He shook himself off and he heard Hermione mutter something about him resembling a dog…

"Why not, why don't you go marching off with me in shackles and present me to Harry and Ron?" She was annoyingly persistent. But he let it slide because she'd been missing for seven years. He felt an odd light-weighted feeling where he was neither ecstatic about having found her, yet also at the same time wanting to ravish her and yell at her at the same time. He had half a mind to bind her and bring her to Potter right that moment but the look of her stayed his thoughts.

She was a mess, even more so with the added affects of the rain. Her dress clung to her and her eyes had dark circles under them; her hair wet, back to long curls, her lips puffed from the crying she'd done earlier. She was pitiful—like the true mudbloods he visualized, though they were ugly, she was bordering on average and plain-Jane. He turned away from her, quite willing to change out of his soaked jeans and shirt. He longed for a lengthy, hot bath…perhaps she could join him? He jumped. She was right in front of him, her monstrosity scaring him. _I think I'll be alone in the bath._

"Answer me." She said menacingly.

"Or what? You'll glare at me? That's all you've done for a day Granger, and all I've done is: nothing. So don't you already have your answer? I know a little prissy-know-it-all like you must have any and every possible answer but since I'm here and Potter and Weasley aren't, aren't you satisfied?"

She stared at him in shock. He turned away from her, and up the stairs, he could hear the drops of water hitting the stone and the squishing of his shoes against each step. He saw that Aeron had been watching them from the top right corner of the staircase, shrouded in shadow. He ignored the boy in a huff and kept walking, leaving Hermione. He felt as though he'd done this before, in another time or place, it felt like a déjà vu, except the images were unfamiliar to his brain when they should have been.

He used the washroom on the landing and locked the heavy door behind him by magic, not wanting to use his hands to do _that_ much work. He flicked his wand at the bathtub and it began filling immediately. He peeled his clothes off and they landed on the cold stone floor with a slap. Once inside the hot bath he sighed, calming his thoughts and body relaxed.

He nearly fell asleep in the tub, but he rubbed his eyes vigorously, out of frustration with _work_ and other things. He wrapped a towel—that was not for bath use—around his waist and gathered his things, Scourgifying them (he knew they'd need washing) and left the bathroom leaving trails of water along the floor and carpets. He didn't care about their feelings; they were just like house elves to him.

He was about to slam his door when he spotted Adwen at the top of the stairs, looking down at something going on in the foyer. Aeron was beside her and he turned to see Draco looking at them, interested. He walked over to the children but remained hidden by the wall as he peered to see what they were looking at.

It was that cheeky bastard what's-his-name…_Thomas_. He cringed at the sight of him flattering Hermione. She smiled politely and when he took her hand Draco took a step forward. The children were watching the scene before them and Draco's actions, their eyes wide. He was scowling at the fact that Thomas was wooing her and she was making it very obvious she was not interested. He watched his face (she wasn't facing Draco) and he read his lips.

"_With this new fellow in town investigating I thought he might give you and the little 'uns a hard time."_

Was it so hard to say 'ones', why must it be 'uns'? He rolled his eyes and continued to eavesdrop.

"_Ida might think he's alright but me and the otha' lad's 'ave been worried 'bout you an' all the lasses in town. We can't have another attack like Mattie's happen. He could 'ave killed the guy he's impersonating now!"_

She said something and he shook his head.

"'_ow could you sure? Is he forcin' himself upon you in any way?"_

This guy was really going to get a beating. He had pulled out his wand but Hermione stopped the raving lunatic. Draco wondered stupidly why he didn't have his own wand on him, he glanced back, it was on the bathroom's sink countertop.

Hermione talked to him some more and seemed to half-convince him Draco wasn't going to rape his non-girlfriend anytime soon.

After he moved into the dining room Hermione turned to climb up the stairs and the children scuttled off in the other direction. Draco was stuck but Aeron covered for him instantly by running into his mum on the way up. She stopped and picked him up.

"What's wrong darling?" She cooed. She carried him up the stairs; Draco thought she might fall back down at the sight of her small body sagging under the weight. He hid in the shadows and went to his room down the hallway. Matilda's service was tomorrow and it would be a perfect opportunity to search the houses and question the townsfolk. He set his plan in motion.

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked the first chapter! Review and you get a star! :D

**A/N: UPDATE: I've updated this chapter, fixed some spelling errors and some words like 'he' should have been 'her' or some tense problems where I changed my mind and forgot to change the words :P 'hapening' 'happened' etc. and some minor and major plot inconsistencies, so hopefully it's easier to understand. And I'm sorry to all those who find they can't read the centering/are annoyed by it, fanfiction only lets authors upload one format to publish, the 'story' format where it's either all to the left with no indentation or centered, and I think centered is better. If you hate it that much please inform not me because there's nothing I can do :( **

**R&R  
-k-**


	2. LaviniaThe Leavers DanceHometown Glory

**Disclaimer: JK-all that you know, I-all that you do not know**

**Fix You**

**Chapter Two:**

**Lavinia/ The Leavers Dance/ Hometown Glory**

_A few days ago…_

She exhaled and a cloud of white fog was the result of the cold, damp morning. She hugged her robe around her tighter in an attempt at self-comfort but it didn't help the fact that there was a dead body before her and the others. The men had covered her up but Hermione knew her well after her time there. She'd given her advice about being alone and since they went to Hogwarts they made a truce to not let it slip who she was.

Matilda had been dead for hours and no one knew who'd done it. Thomas looked up Hermione with a grim expression, mixed with overprotection. Thomas would have had a thought of who did it but it wouldn't have made any sense because it was his attempt to appear smart and have an excuse to be overprotective. She rolled her eyes ever so slightly it seemed that she was merely unable to gaze at Matilda's lifeless corpse any longer. She hugged herself and took in her surroundings. It was before dawn and at that hour it was darker than the darkest night. A chill flew through the town and covered the roofs in slight frost that would melt by morning.

All the men had gone on searching parties, theirs had found Matilda. Hermione and a few other women went out with the men to help so she kept her twins with her neighbour, Mrs. Hughes. She glanced around at the grim faces of the people she'd come to know. Ida, who'd sheltered her and was as good as her own mother, stood off to the side, talking quietly with the other Elders of the town. They would owl St. Mungo's so they could bring in professional help. Hermione couldn't help but think it would take more than a few Healers to fix the damage here. She worried that her time in hiding was coming to a close. Maybe Matilda's death had been a sign, a sign that no one was ever really safe, no matter how far they ran.

Hermione had a motherly instinct that something would go wrong if she left her children alone for too long. She bid them farewell sadly and Ida told her she'd be back at the Inn later that day, meaning she was going to be with the other town Elders as they sat down for a meeting to discuss the events that happened. She didn't look at Thomas as she walked by but could feel his green eyes on her.

Walking down the familiar street at that hour in that circumstance made it feel like the scariest stroll she'd ever been on. Every shadow made her jump and every noise made her whip out her wand. A few faces had their noses pressed against the glass, hoping Hermione—Jean—would walk up to them and tell them the grim news they'd hear within hours. She kept her head down and her ears open, making her walk brisk, until she'd finally made it to the Inn. She stopped at Mrs. Hughes' home and collected her children.

She sat them down at a table in the dining room of the Inn and made hot chocolate for them. While they sipped it tiredly she sat by the window, glancing through the curtains for any sign of mysteriousness. When she was sure they weren't watching, she charmed the Inn and magically sealed it to protect herself and her children until Ida got back. Hermione glanced at her children.

Her own flesh and blood; they gazed back at her—one with familiar eyes, the other, foreign to her memory. She took in their tired hints of yawning and nodding off and ushered them off to bed again. While she tucked them in she couldn't help but cry silent tears.

It was ridiculous, she hadn't cried for almost a year. It was often her strong suit, to put on a façade that she was alright. Many of the women had joked about her seriousness, some disliked her for it and some men—like Thomas—had found it extremely alluring. Hermione thought that that was the only reason any man would be attracted to her. The only thing that happened to her in the last seven years was: become thinner from lack of remembering to take care of herself, longer hair—which she was grateful for, because the longer it got, the heavier so it weighed her curls down to look less bushy—she noticed the circles under her eyes getting worse over the past month and couldn't help but think her body knew what her brain was trying to tell her: the jig was up. Very soon something bad would happen.

After barely closing her eyes for a moment Ida was knocking on the door. The pounding on the wooden door scared her, making her fall out of her chair beside the children upstairs. She rubbed her eyes and walked down the stairs, glancing in the peephole, she made sure it was Ida before she unlatched the door and removed a few spells off the door. Ida walked in shaking her head.

"Well finally, I've only been knockin' for the last half hour girl!" She dumped some things in Hermione's arms and Hermione was uncomprehending.

"What's this?"

"Supplies, notices, information on how to protect ourselves." She went about lighting lanterns and candles. She stood back and Hermione knew she was calculating what to do next in the Inn. She would need to dismiss any muggles lodging upstairs (a couple from Wales).

"But we're all witches and wizards, we can defend ourselves—"

"Aye, ye're a witch…so was Mattie." She cut her off grimly. She dusted her nightgown down and yawned. "We've got long days ahead o' us dear."

_Seven years ago…_

Hermione pounded on the door heavily. Breathing deeply she put a hand on her terribly swollen belly and tried to stay calm. She used the stone wall for support while she hoped against hope that someone would answer the door. She made a move to knock again but the door was open already. She let out a noise that was supposed to be relief but it got tangled up in a cry.

The rain drowned out anything the woman said, it was coming down so heavily now. She beckoned Hermione inside. She ran to get some towels and clothes. A clap of thunder that rumbled like an angry dragon; and a flash of lightning lit the entire hall for a full few seconds.

"God in Heaven girl, what are ye doin' in this weather in yer condition!" She wrapped a towel around her but Hermione was too uncomfortable, she gasped as another burst of pain shot through her body.

"Please, help me!" She clutched the older woman's hand so tightly she couldn't run for the Healer's help. She shut her eyes in agony and screamed through a closed jaw.

"Alright sweetheart, if ye'll just let me go and fetch the Healer…"

"No, no please there's no time!" She was crying and she wasn't able to stand anymore, Ida used all her strength to get her up the stairs—it was hell for Hermione. But once they were in a vacant room she settled the young girl on the bed and ran to fetch hot water and sheets. If there was no time for a Healer than this girl was going to have to go through this the old fashioned way.

Hermione was so scared; she clutched the bed sheets in anguish and screamed for the whole thing. It wasn't easy—pushing two full babies out of your—"OH MY GOD!" With that, the first child was born. Ida didn't know there were twins. She carried the boy in the blanket and set him on the other bed in the large room with blankets all around him. She'd done her fair share of deliveries, but she was unsure of a few things because she needed the Healer's advice.

"There's, there's another—" Hermione's voice was strangled and she moaned in pain as she realized that she couldn't wait too long before the next one came. Ida ran back, ready for more. _This poor girl, _she thought, _where's her family? Husband? Or is it one of those kinds of situations…_she had no time to contemplate; the next twin was out just as fast as Ida had run over.

Hermione dropped her head back, her face red and puffy, hair stuck to her forehead from sweat. She felt her salty tears run down her cheeks. It was over. But now she was embarking on another journey, and she had to go through it all by herself like before…or maybe not; she glanced at Ida who was done wrapping up the other child.

She came back to her bedside and put a cool cloth on her forehead, her bony hand forcing her to lie back. What she said Hermione couldn't comprehend her in her state of mind. She had just brought two beings into the world, with absolutely no magical or muggle anaesthetic, it was practically medieval. When she obeyed to lie back and heard her leave, Hermione stared at the ceiling with shock and slight trauma…it was surreal.

A minute later she heard the faraway voices and footsteps of people. The woman had returned with another one. The other woman pulled out a wand and said a few spells. This one was a witch…Hermione guessed the other was probably a muggle or squib. The Healer spoke to her but Hermione blinked at her with glazed eyes. Again she muttered a few spells and made her drink a few potions from her satchel. They propped her up on pillows and Hermione gazed around the room, looking for her children.

"They're fine, I've already checked them. Congratulations." She said quietly, keeping in tone with the house and room. They babies were probably sleeping, for they weren't crying.

"What, what are they?" Hermione asked, stuttering slightly, feeling a bit light headed.

"The boy came first, then the girl. They're very strong and healthy."

Hermione blinked at the woman stupidly. She couldn't believe it, a baby boy, and a baby girl. They came from her; from inside her…she couldn't even begin to wrap her head around it. And with those thoughts on her racing mind she fell asleep, exhausted.

The next morning Ida and the Healer were still present in the room and the Healer was administering potions and such to Hermione once she was awake. The Healer—Mrs. Reilly as she soon learned—had conjured cribs for the newborns and had already performed any and all tests required for the children. They were soundly asleep; Mrs. Reilly had never seen anything like it, they should have been wailing through the night, but somehow they knew not to disturb their mother.

Hermione was so exhausted but she had no more time to sleep, this was an accident, she hadn't meant to apparate to Ireland, she couldn't concentrate hard enough because of her contractions and thus she ended up in that village, practically going through labour as she walked. Once Ida left to make them all some food—Hermione discovered she fretted in just the same way as Mrs. Weasley—The Healer was writing a few things on parchments and was occupied concentrating so Hermione looked around at her surroundings.

The room gave off a 'toasty' feel and she indeed felt too comfortable in the bed. The carpets and rugs along the floor were set up to keep the room insulated for the wintertime. A few tapestries and portraits hung on the wooden walls and there was a small fireplace on the other end of the room beside a couch and armchair. Hermione realized that this must've been a 'suite' for it seemed too large for a standard room at an Inn.

She saw a full-length mirror—it was practically ancient, blackish spots of mold covered the edges, crawling inwards from the frame as if it were a disease—and she dreaded to glance at herself.

She'd taken extreme measures to stay hidden. One thing she knew was out of the question was polyjuice potion, she didn't know what would happen to her unborn children if she took it, and so she never tried. She had to resort to muggle ways of staying hidden. She cropped her hair and dyed it black. She never apparated unless necessary and had stayed in France, Germany, as well as Denmark and Norway. She had lived like a ghost, coming up with different names and various ways to obtain money. She wore fake glasses at some points and her wardrobe consisted of the most inconspicuous clothes. She had picked up the basics for speaking French, German, Danish, and she had to work hard at Norwegian. She'd made a friend or two in each place; they provided her with shelter or information.

When she was first in France she was only a month pregnant and so she was able to hold a regular job and stay under the radar. By the time she moved into Germany she was around four months and it was obvious she was carrying a child. In Denmark and Norway she had to be practically non-existent to stay free.

The downfall of Voldemort had made things extremely easier than they would've been if death eaters had been walking around trying to capture those closest to Harry—or just mudbloods in general. She never spoke of how she became pregnant nor did anyone ask once they saw that she was all alone. She hated reflecting on those last few days with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. She dismayed at what they thought after she ran away.

A week later Hermione was settled and informed enough to be able to leave. She was strong once more, for it was a tricky birthing process without any medical or magical help. Ida was a kind woman and never asked too many questions—well she did, but she knew when they were too personal—Hermione's colour (both in her skin tone and hair) were back and her eyes became more animated. She learned of the town and its inhabitants. Once she was out of the bed Ida had gone and purchased her some clothes and Hermione insisted on paying her back and Ida had merely wanted an extra hand to run the Inn with her.

Hermione was interested in this partnership and agreed. Mrs. Reilly would come over almost every day since she and Ida were close friends and she would also come to check on the twins. Hermione learned anything she needed to learn about being a mother from those two women. She also discovered she was an alright cook, Ida promised that she'd only get better in her older years. Everything was becoming comforting and she loved everything she'd heard about the town (for she hadn't left the Inn since she walked in the first time).

The things she loved the most were her children. The first time she held her daughter she had cried for a full hour. She'd sobered by the time they handed her her son. She hadn't named them the minute they were born but she'd heard a few names from her escapades across Europe. She heard of 'Adwen' from Mrs. Reilly whose great-grandmother had been called so, and she had researched it and found it to be of Welsh origins, and it had a meaning: blessed. She had fallen in love with it and decided her daughter would carry that name.

Her son was a harder matter. She couldn't think of any name that was astounding or to her liking. Ida and Mrs. Reilly suggested many but they were too Welsh-sounding or very obviously Irish such as Seamus or Cillian or Clooney. She used old books that were located in the Inn's small Study. Then she found it.

She had been reading a book about ancient Welsh mythology and had come across a name befitting the young Knight in the story. It was 'Aeron', and it had a certain way to say it as well as she found out later from Ida. But the reason she picked it was because in the story they described how the Knight received his name. It meant 'battle-ending'. She felt her eyes become misty at the thought of her little Knight charging in and stopping the feud between her and—she would never think of _him _again—and so she didn't, but she stayed firm with naming Aeron. And so he was called.

She decided to finally greet the members of the town, only after telling Ida and Mrs. Reilly to never mention her true name or expose her to anyone she might know. They agreed of course. And so she claimed her middle name to be her first and met the people. She saw a great many number of people gather around her in the tavern across the street as she was introduced to everyone. She met Mr. Boyle and his son Thomas who was her age. She also met only one other person her age and sex. Her name was Matilda and there was something in her eyes that told Hermione that she knew. After the warm greetings the townsfolk resumed their music and fast jigs. She heard all the sounds blend as one, the music, feet, laughing, shouting, beer glasses clinking together and the sounds of punches being thrown.

She searched for Matilda and caught her just outside the tavern; she looked like she was going home for the night.

"Wait. Do you know who I am?" Hermione asked conscientiously. Matilda smiled slyly.

"Do you wish me to know who you are, or to be like everyone and call you Jean?" Her soft-spoken voice made Hermione think for a moment. This girl looked familiar.

"Hermione Granger, Gryffindor. I'm Matilda O'Flaherty, Ravenclaw."

Hermione's heart sank but the rush of fear and the pumping of adrenaline caused her to overreact and back away. Matilda caught up with her half way to the Inn and told wheeled her around.

"It's alright Hermione! I won't tell. I promise. I…I know what you're going through, can I give you a tip? One Hogwarts-dropout-single mother to another?" She said with a small giggle. Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She and Matilda went up to the Inn and she had learned everything about her over tea in the sitting room. It was a muggle boy who'd gotten her pregnant and she didn't return for her seventh year and she had turned seventeen when she was two months along. She came to stay in the town with her parents. She told her she'd considered running away to another place and hide in shame (Hermione's stomach clenched) but she couldn't bear being alone with her child while Voldemort still ran rampant. It was only after she'd received news that Voldemort was defeated by Harry that she'd been able to go back and see the father safely.

"Did you tell him?"

"I thought about it, I mean if he didn't want any responsibility than I could've just erased his memory, but…no I never went to tell him."

"Why?"

"He was dead. During those muggle massacres in London, remember those?" She said as she sipped her tea and Hermione couldn't believe how composed she was being. She felt her stomach clench itself further. She was being ungrateful and selfish. Her children had a father; he was alive the last time she checked, and she was being selfish for keeping them from him. But Hermione knew he would have nothing to do with them, he would probably kill them and her after that. She felt pity for Matilda being alone—but the irony was that she wasn't alone. The whole town knew and she had their support for the entire thing. Hermione truly was alone. No one she knew back home knew about what had happened to her.

After that night with Matilda they'd become as close as she had been with Ginny. She discovered after a few weeks there that Thomas had a crush on her. Matilda explained that he took great pride in 'taking care' of anything that was pregnant or had children. Soon everyone knew of 'Jean' and her children. No one questioned a thing and Hermione felt the most comfortable there than she had ever felt anywhere else. But she kept her guard up the whole year that she stayed.

Within that year everyone was acquainted and kind and her hair had grown slightly. She had arrived in March and it was one day in October that she sat outside the back of the Inn in the small garden and contemplated her past.

She watched the leaves slowly change colour and watched with interest as they fell off the branch and landed on the dying grass. The season matched her thoughts. She was dreading an Irish winter; Ida seemed overly excited and had forgotten about Hermione's mysterious past. Hermione however, couldn't let it go, her thoughts bounced around her head making it throb with pain almost every night, she was stressing herself night after night and she knew she had nothing to worry about, they would give up by now, and she was sure…

_About two years ago…_

They all stood in the Great Hall, stunned. They stared at his lifeless corpse, eyes wide, mouths open. Harry stood a few feet away, panting with adrenaline, his wand still raised and pointed at the spot where his enemy had stood.

Voldemort was dead. The silence in the Hall was deafening, a pounding drum in her ears. She was beside Ron, their wands lowered after the scene that just happened before them. Even the remaining Death Eaters were motionless and astonished. Harry was in front of them and slightly to the right, so when Harry staggered back Ron and a few others rushed forward to keep him steady. When everyone looked around at the others in the Great Hall, students, Death Eaters, teachers, parents, house elves, they realized what had just happened.

The whole school was filled with the cheers and laughter, mixed with crying as everyone celebrated and embraced each other. They bound the remaining Death Eaters and all the adults rushed around writing letters and sending Patronuses to various loved ones and some were alerting the Ministry of the news. Within a half hour the _Prophet_ was spewing thousands of copies, claiming the news of the Dark Lord's death by Harry Potter's hand.

Within the hour hundreds of witches and wizards from around England were apparating into Hogsmede and running up the lawns of Hogwarts, past the fallen ones on the battlefield who were being collected by the adults already present at the school. All of the arriving guests were already half drunk and were sporting Firewhisky and an assortment of wines and such.

The Great Hall was cleared and anywhere they could set food and drink down they did so. Before any of the real celebration could begin, Harry stood atop the Head table and raised his goblet. He'd amplified his voice so that all could hear—Hermione wasn't shocked, there were probably thousands of witches and wizards as well as goblins and all good creatures around the interior and exterior of Hogwarts; more had come from beyond English borders and the school capacity was overflowing, there were people sitting or standing anywhere, from atop fireplaces on the mantelpiece and shoulders of friends and family, and the mass of people and magical creatures spread outside and onto the lawn, all the way into Hogsmede and beyond, many had set up magical platforms on the Lake and all were eagerly listening to the young man who'd just saved the world.

"Though there has been victory here, we must remember the honourable dead and those who gave their lives so that we could accomplish what we achieved tonight; to the dead." He raised his goblet to the crowds and drank, as did everyone else.

Hermione reached for a goblet on the table beside her and spotted the Malfoys half hidden in shadow. Whatever they claimed about their actions was not important anymore, Hermione had seen McGonagall confiscate their wands, in fact, she'd given them to Hermione for safe keeping—McGonagall was so flustered she didn't realize she gave them to a student, even if Hermione was a good student—and so they meant no harm. She grabbed the goblet and raised it with Harry and drank with the others to the dead—Lupin, Tonks, Moody, Fred…The Firewhiskey seared her throat, even though she'd promised herself she would never drink or smoke or do anything that was habitually bad in her life, she gulped it down, she would gladly drink to honour those who were no longer with them.

As the hour passed she saw so many new faces and many ministry members, she was sure there would be no one at the Ministry to send out letters to scold those who were using magic underage; it didn't matter because they all celebrated as if it were the end of the world anyway. Many students had undone their ties and shirts and thrown them overhead and whooped with joy as they ran around, drunk, many of them not even in their seventh year. Hermione took another goblet of wine from Ron as he happily chugged his down, he was already extremely drunk, and she couldn't fathom how Ron had managed that in such a short amount of time.

Even McGonagall had let her hair down and was drinking with the other teachers, she was still sober enough to scold a few younger students who began to remove their shirts and were swinging them over their heads.

Hermione smiled at the drunken splendour of everyone's happiness. Harry was surrounded by masses of people, shaking his hand, thanking him, discussing his future, so she didn't head in that direction. She tripped over someone's abandoned robes and giggled slightly. She was a bit tipsy.

After another hour she saw that a few musical witches and wizards begin to play music and everyone joined in, singing or dancing. She made her way out of the Great Hall which threatened to implode because of the capacity and the pounding noise that reverberated off the stone walls. The Entrance Hall was just as packed, many were already heading upstairs to the upper floors to continue the celebration for the music was magicked to sound throughout the entire school and outside as well.

There were a few people swinging off the banners and tapestries, and she noticed all of the paintings in Hogwarts were celebrating as well—she couldn't help but think of the portrait in the Headmaster's Office, Dumbledore's…Hermione drunkenly made her way outside—for she was a bit more than tipsy now—and saw all the creatures who couldn't fit into the castle, such as the giants, stomping around in celebration in the distance, for it was a hazard to have them close to the school; the centaurs were galloping and she saw them release a volley of flaming arrows into the unoccupied portion of the Lake. She noticed the people on the floating platforms had magically set up lights around the platforms and close to the edge of the Lake.

She turned and saw Professor Flitwick lighting up the entire school with decorations and Hermione spotted what looked like giant spotlights on the roof of the school and there seemed to be people up there as well for they were letting off fireworks—products of the Weasley twins' shop…she lowered her eyes as she remembered that there was only one twin now.

They might be celebrating now, but after tomorrow when everyone was sober enough to realize the deaths they would all gather and mourn. She pushed the thoughts from her brain and drank more; she was addicted to this new drink, her virgin body wanting more. She drained her goblet and searched for another.

She turned from the sight of the celebrators outside and headed back into the school with much difficulty, squeezing through the crowds. She managed to make it halfway into the entrance hall but she had an idea and turned to go down a set of stairs. She faced the portrait with the fruits and tickled the pear. The portrait swung open and she walked into the kitchens—it was just as busy down here as up in the Great Hall, she could see the dust falling from the ceiling as those upstairs continued to rejoice. The house elves were outdoing themselves, falling over each other to make enough food for everyone. They had sent tables of food floating outside for those not in the school and had to prepare a vast amount of food for those upstairs. One took notice of her and rushed to ask her what she liked. She smiled and made to hug the elf but they held her up with their magic.

"What is misses wanting?" The elf squeaked, it was in a hurry to help the others but it couldn't deny a human's request.

"Just-just a b-bit more whisky or wine or—" she started to giggle for a reason unknown. The house elf conjured a goblet for her and ran off before she could stutter for him to leave the bottle. She gazed into the cup and bit her bottom lip with excitement. She was about halfway through it before she heard a voice speak to her that made her cough and sputter. She looked up and saw Draco Malfoy, lounging beside the fireplace. He had a plate of food in front of him and a goblet in his hand.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Granger."

She thought she should reach for her wand but realized he didn't have his, she did! She smiled at the thought and he frowned at her happiness. He sat up from his laid-back position and she took it as a sign to move closer to him, she did so.

Once beside him on the lumpy couch she sighed and groaned in a very manly manner. She downed the rest of her goblet and when she realized there wasn't any more wine inside the cup she eyed it angrily and set it on the table unsteadily.

Draco had leaned away from her when she sat down and he was surprised she didn't miss the couch in her drunken state. He watched her with curiosity through his tipsy gaze. He probably had more than she had but he could hold his liquor.

She sighed again and threw her head back and then turned her body and head to face him awkwardly positioning herself.

"Can you b-believe—hic—it? He's dead!" She shouted the last word loud enough that a few passing elves turned their heads in their direction. He was embarrassed to be with her but he didn't really have anywhere else to go, his parents were trying to secure a safe passage out, convincing the higher officials of their innocence, so in the meantime he had to lie low or else any drunk upstairs could kill him for being a traitor.

She burrowed her forehead into his shoulder and he jumped away from her, down the small couch, with a shocked and disgusted face. "What's wrong with you?" He practically shouted.

"I have the—hic—biggest headache." She proceeded further down the couch and buried her head into the seat, moving it back and forth trying to subdue the pain of the alcohol. She couldn't shake it off and so she looked up at her loathed school-mate and dementia from the alcohol took over.

"Why-why are you such a—hic—bastard Malfoy?" She was practically in his lap, he had nowhere else to go but off the couch, but to her wonder he stayed seated, granted leaning away from her, but he remained seated.

"I don't know what you mean." _He was playing dumb_, she giggled at her cleverness.

"Oh well you know—hic—the way you hate Harry, Ron and especially me, I mean is there something repulsive about me that you—hic—" She gazed up at him expectantly and it was apparently the end of the sentence. He shifted uncomfortably and replied, "I hate you because you're a mudblood." He was careful about not saying anything about Potter who'd just saved his arse more than once that night, he just downright hated Weasley for no reason deep down, maybe because he was friends with Potter and Granger…?

"See! You call me names and such, it's really—hic—hurtful Malfoy." Her eyes looked as if they were dams holding back tears, as she said that she had practically climbed into his lap when she sat up, her hands on his shoulders, to keep herself steady. He remained immobile as he looked into her eyes.

"Well I'm…sorry?" It was more of a question, but it didn't matter since Granger wasn't going to remember any of it the next morning. "Did you eat anything yet?" He asked, it was bad to drink on an empty stomach.

She frowned as if he'd said something bad. "Do you think I'm fat?"

_The universal question that defines women_ he thought with an eye roll. "No you're perfectly adequate."

She didn't like that answer either. "So I'm—hic—ugly?"

"No I didn't say that!" He was getting angry, and he leaned in to her (he was a face person when it came to fighting he liked to be right up in someone's face), and it was her turn to lean back. It was slightly awkward on her legs and she felt her knees lock painfully.

"What, are you going to cry, as usual?" He sneered. She didn't reply but hardened her face.

"I hate you." She whispered; it took him by surprise, the amount of hatred she could muster while being drunk. She glared half-heartedly but she couldn't move off his lap when he glared at her expectantly.

"What, what is it?"

"I'm stuck." She admitted, embarrassed. She saw the corners of his mouth twist up slightly. She pursed her lips to keep from smiling but only burst out into laughter, they laughed simultaneously, their heads close.

Their laughter seemed to sober them, their foreheads touching, she found his hands on her hips, her hands still on his shoulders. Their lips were inches apart.

"You're not evil." She whispered, barely audible over the noise in the kitchen, but when he spoke it seemed that everything was tuned out.

"I'm not?" His voice was husky and she could smell their breaths, mingled, full of alcohol.

"Do you know what I'm afraid of?" She asked, suddenly being personal, throwing him way off track.

"N-no, what?" He stuttered the answer, out of shock, not frightfulness.

"Ron…" she sighed, "We kissed earlier tonight, and even though I thought it was great it was really—hic—rushed and so I think he'll want to do that again but I just don't think I'm good enough." She said in one breath, closing her eyes in shame. She thought he was going to laugh at her but he didn't.

"Well I don't think Weasley'll be able to tell the difference between a good kiss and a bad one, he was practically slobbering all over that annoying girl in your House, what's-her-name."

"Lavender." Hermione inputted. She was very sad now, and extremely tired.

"Yeah, well haven't you ever kissed anyone before?" He asked, trying to be mean again.

"Not a proper one, that one was my first with anyone." She was becoming too personal and so she looked into his eyes by accident.

His wonderful pools of grey sucked her in like a black hole, they had a hold over her, and she couldn't look away. She leaned down, and when he didn't move away she stopped halfway; he met her, pushing his head up their lips met in a fiery union.

He was so passionate, she couldn't keep up, she struggled to make herself comfortable while also paying attention to him, and he didn't seem to care about their position but merely the job of devouring her lips. She pulled her head back for air and she gasped for a moment, trying to inhale. The kiss was so intense she was dizzier than she had been with the alcohol. Her hands had subconsciously made their way into his hair and she had been pulling it, she loosened her grip and muttered 'sorry'. He smiled slightly.

"Do you think you're ready to go to Weasley tonight?" He taunted her about her obvious virginity. She blushed, she was already flushed from the kiss but this was too much. She made to get up but something in her head made her stay where she was. She looked down at him, his hands crossed behind his head as a headrest and his cocky smile. She decided to shock him once more that night.

"No I don't think I've got the basics quite right yet." She saw the fire in his eyes as he inhaled deeply his chest rising and falling with every breath; she felt her own heart-rate escalate. He grabbed her hips and crushed her forward onto him, their lips locking once more. She ran her fingers through his hair, slowly, and she tried to slow the kiss down for he was on a roll and wouldn't stop for anything, too caught up in his passion.

The way he saw it, he was dead if they decided to declare the Malfoy family guilty, and he was dead if someone caught them down there; he was dead anyway. A cough from his left made them break out of their trance. She looked to her right and saw an elf standing awkwardly bashful at breaking the two of them up. She didn't need to say anything to the pair.

Before she knew it Draco had grabbed her hand and said something to the elf but Hermione was so dazed and drunk she couldn't comprehend. He led her out of the kitchens and up into the noisy Entrance Hall, they turned and went up the steps drunkenly missing a step every now and then. They laughed together and Hermione found that he was so much more humane—when drunk.

They reached the sixth floor and he looked around, trying to remember something. He walked up to an empty portrait (for all the occupants ran into their neighbour's frames downstairs) and pushed it open with no difficulty. He took her hand again and they shared a look of intensity once more. She wondered where Ron was in that very moment. She contemplated if Harry was still being bombarded by thanks, it was hours since his toast but she couldn't tell the exact time. She looked around at the room.

They seemed to be in the Head's dorm, she was disappointed that she never got to finish her seventh year; she was so prepared for the N.E.W.T.S as well as graduation. She was a bit bitter about not being able to use this room, she envied whoever had been—Draco's lips were on hers once more, taking her completely by surprise. He shoved her against the wall and brought her leg up. All this was so new to her she didn't think much of that move and so put her leg back down. He lifted her other leg but she put it down too, he sighed in frustration against her neck, his hot breath tickling her.

"You keep them up Granger. And you put your arms around my neck." He couldn't believe he was walking her though sex.

"Oh…oh Merlin I'm sorry this must be extremely unromantic for you…" She was embarrassed and awkwardly tried to put her leg back the way it was. She didn't know that it was actually the most romantic Draco had ever been, the other times and other girls were just about passion, and Hermione had passion and romance for him. He found himself wanting to be tender with her.

Before he resumed kissing her he brought his mouth close to her ear as his hand traced its way slowly up her shirt. "How drunk are you?" His voice was husky, it made her knees melt.

"Now? Sober enough to want this." Her voice was husky as well. He captured her lips once more, his hand continuing its journey north. She gasped when he cupped her breast above the bra. He did no more with that hand but brought the other to her face and delicately—his gentleness surprised her—brought her face to him in a sincere kiss. He removed his hand from under her shirt and brought her leg up, this time she held on as he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. Her heart was pounding madly, the darkness of the dorm and bedroom engulfed them and she was glad of it, for she thought he was probably picturing another woman instead of Mudblood Granger.

She couldn't believe she was about to do it with Malfoy. She felt so young still, she heard the voice of her mother and father in the back of her head, _Hermione, stay away from the boys at school, we know Harry and Ron mean well but there are others—our point is focus on your studies and succeed, because succeeding is the best reward darling—_she couldn't think about them now, she had to focus to remember, she couldn't understand why she was making this a 'lesson' so that she would know what to do with Ron later…_God I sound like whore._ She thought, but she gasped as Malfoy bit her neck delicately.

She felt him move back off her chest and slowly unbutton her shirt. They had somehow landed on the bed a few minutes ago while her mind was elsewhere. Once her shirt was off she felt him remove her pants and shoes and socks. With all the clothing gone she felt so exposed in front of him. He removed his own shirt and pants and stood before her. She was leaning against the pillows at the top of the bed, her legs twisted, and her hands fidgeting. She saw his eyes rake her form and groaned in embarrassment, she didn't own a single pair of sexy lingerie. All she had on was a simple white bra and—

"Granny panties?" He asked the laughter in his voice. She covered her bottom half with a pillow.

"Excuse me for not liking something like a thong that buries itself in your arse." She had never seen him smile this much. He pulled the pillow away while climbing onto the bed. He had a leg over her and his face was close to hers. She felt his hand on her, his fingertips moving across her neck, tracing the chain to the bottom of it that held her ring, he picked it up for a moment before pulling it off and placing it somewhere she didn't see because of the darkness.

She thanked Merlin for the dark room, but also cursed it for it was also cold because of the lack of fire. She felt gooseflesh rise along with her heart rate. He put a hand on her hip, his thumb moving under the elastic of the underwear. She was getting felt up by the Slytherin Sex-God—so called by all the girls, she preferred Sex-Maniac—he probably had some sexually transmitted disease…as her fretful mind dwelled on that she didn't realize he'd removed her bra. The cold air hit her bare chest like a slap and she felt the instant need to cover up.

He didn't give her the chance. Putting his mouth over one his hands pulled down her underwear. She gasped at the sensation, it tickled quite a bit too and she found herself giggling. He looked up at her, surprised.

"I'll give you something to laugh about." He backed off and removed his boxers…she instantly sobered. It wasn't like Hermione was completely devoid of a sex life, she read those romance novels and she hoped they would give her some insight. She knew why he was the Sex-God now.

He pushed himself into her gently; she could tell it was taking all his self control not to take her savagely. She put her hands on his shoulders as he hit her barrier. The one thing she valued above her intelligence was gone in an instant of pain and pleasure. She dug her fingers into his skin—she could tell he was happy because she didn't have long nails like the other girls—she felt the tears coming but also felt his lips on her skin, up her stomach in-between her breasts and finally her mouth. His hands were on her hips, moving them for her, teaching her without words. She got the rhythm and so he removed one hand and placed it on the headboard behind her. She wondered why and then got her answer as he picked up the pace. She couldn't consider that there was more! But after her pain subsided she began to feel the pleasure, her guilt gone.

He continued to speed up in intervals and he was impressed that she was keeping up. They were both panting and sweaty when he was close. He didn't know if she was, but felt her walls clench and then her cry as they came together. They lay, breathing hard for a moment before he pulled out of her but stayed on top, looking into her eyes. It was the most romantic he'd ever been with a girl, and it was the most quiet, and tender, and—she reached up and kissed him.

"That was good for the first lesson Granger." He said, his voice was dry from the alcohol and lack of talking during the sex. He lay beside her with his hands behind his head again. He looked to his side and watched her. She brought her hand to her stomach and one to her forehead, her chest falling and rising with her fast breaths—it was a beautiful sight to behold and she didn't know. Weasley didn't deserve this.

It didn't bother him that she was still a mudblood because it didn't change the fact that she was still a girl, a beautiful one. Once her breathing returned to almost normal she giggled.

"That was…" She had her hands over her eyes, trying to contain her thoughts. He looked at her with a small smile, one side of his mouth moved up. "Not enough practice Mr. Malfoy." She said slyly. She didn't know what came over her, she should've been crying and running from the room screaming 'rape' but somehow she knew in the back of her mind she'd always wanted Draco to be that guy—oh, who was she kidding she thought it would be Ron, but this felt so much more invigorating—she should've felt guilty but she couldn't, not when she was beside the most…_what, romantic? No of course not. _

"Oh really? I don't think you deserve that second lesson Miss Granger." He made to move out of the bed but before she even knew what her body was doing she was sitting atop him, straddling his hips. She put her hands on his biceps to keep him from reaching up. He scoffed a laugh and reached up without resistance. He took hold of her face but she ground her hips into his and he groaned in response.

"Alright if you want that second lesson it's going to cost you."

"I thought you'd taken everything I have of value." She said smartly. She smirked, and he smirked right back.

"A kiss." He whispered, his finger taking a bushy curl and twisting it around his wrist, bringing her head down to his. She granted his payment and he rolled them both over and was in her quicker than she expected.

The second time she paid more attention to the pleasure between her legs and this time he didn't need to go slow. They went twice as fast as the time they ended the other encounter, and they peaked twice. Her hips met every thrust in time and she moaned more than before and he felt more at ease now that she wasn't a virgin anymore.

Once it was over she spoke once more: "I'm not sure I understood something Mr. Malfoy…" She said after the second time, her grin visible in the darkness, he laughed and she felt like he was as human as Harry or Ron but this was a boy who would become a great man after this. And so after each time they would make comments about the certain parts of the 'lessons' and the process would repeat itself. He taught her tricks and positions, positions she never dreamed would give her that much pleasure.

The next morning the sunshine blazed into the room that was previously darkened. She frowned and tried to cover her face. She was lying under the covers, the large comforter thrown off and the thin sheet only barely covering her very naked body. She frowned. She never slept nude, she was extremely conservative…She realized she had a pounding headache and only then remembered that she had too much to drink last night. Today was the funerals for all those who'd perished. She tried to sit up but found it was as if her brain was rattling around her skull. She put a hand to her head and groaned in agony. She rolled over with her eyes closed and tried to get as much sleep as she could.

Being the bookworm she was she couldn't stay asleep for long and so she yawned and stretched, her hand coming into contact with something. She opened her eyes. It took all of her being not to scream. She pieced it together in a second. Who was he? His head was covered by the pillow he'd thrown over and kept there with his muscled arm. The sheet only covered his lower-half but Hermione found it didn't cover her enough and so she tugged slightly to get some more coverage.

Once the sheet was bunched around her neck she got out of the bed with it and walked around the bed silently. She took note of her clothes and granny underwear—GRANNY UNDERWEAR…MALFOY…she felt her brain go through an aneurism, a combination of the alcohol and the revelation in that second. She had her hand over her mouth as a way to keep from screaming. She backed away from the bed and hit the dresser, he shifted slightly and she admired his butt from her angle but shook her head. She gathered her clothes and grabbed her wand and took a step forward, and then turned…She walked towards the bed and saw his sleeping face under the pillow. She pointed her wand at him and muttered as quietly as she could. She cleaned his memory of the night before, anything involving herself. She was glad she was as smart as she was—without being too cocky about it…She ran from dorm as soon as she was out of the room.

Once she was near the fourth floor she saw students, adults, people from other countries, and creatures alike all sleeping in various places of the castle. There were couples of students who'd pulled down tapestries and used them as makeshift blankets and there were some atop the statues in the Entrance Hall and when she tiptoed her way into the Great Hall she found the tables to be overloaded with people and some had fallen asleep in the food beside them or in front of them, some, like Ron, still had goblets in their hands. She found him at the Head table in nothing but his underwear and two girls from Beauxbatons (their uniforms—what was left of them—gave them away) around each arm. She glared at his sleeping form, his mouth hanging open, snoring.

He wasn't the only one snoring. She could walk normally and not wake anyone of them. She made her way out of the Great Hall and climbed over sleeping bodies and finally made it outside. She breathed in the fresh air. Hermione saw those who decided to stay the night had conjured up tents and sleeping bags—the vast lawns of Hogwarts were covered with many different-coloured tents. The inn at Hogsmede would've been over capacity. The Three Broomsticks probably made enough money to rebuild it three times over.

She spotted a lone figure beside the Lake where the platforms also held sleeping occupants. She walked down to the Lake to see who it was.

It was Harry. He was gazing out at the Lake, without really seeing. She sat beside him and gazed out as well.

"You're awake." He commented.

"So are you." She replied. She felt that he somehow knew about what she'd done. She instead looked at the grass when she felt his green eyes on her she looked at him. They were full of triumph but also sadness.

"What's wrong Harry?" She asked, knowing the answer.

"Everyone…"His voice choked up a bit, he looked down and cleared it before continuing, "Everyone we know Hermione, those among the dead. Lupin…Lupin was the closest connection I had to my dad after Sirius…and for him to lose Tonks, who's going to look after Teddy?"

"I'm sure Andromeda…"

"And Fred, Hermione…Fred; How could Ron drink and not mourn over his brother?"

"He was celebrating that Voldemort was finally gone, he knew the consequences, and we all did—"

"Do you know where George was last night, Hermione?" He interrupted her. When she didn't reply he answered. "At the Burrow in his old room, the room he shared with Fred. I found him there at five this morning. He was sitting on Fred's bed, looking at Fred's Christmas sweater."

Hermione felt tears spilling out of her eyes. "Today is their day Harry, all of them, all of them can be honoured. McGonagall and you and the others are putting it together, I'll help, and it's going to be as grand as Dumbledore's funeral. _Everyone_ will remember today." She had difficulty getting that sentence out; her crying had made her slightly incoherent. Harry pulled her to him and hugged her.

She was crying about everything, the deaths, Malfoy, Ron, George, Remus, Tonks, little Teddy…it all came out she couldn't contain it anymore. How Harry had dealt with this pain she couldn't tell. But she saw him cry with her, silent _manly_ tears—_boys are so stupid!_ She cried, why couldn't they show their emotion? She hugged Harry tighter.

They sat by the Lake discussing the funerals until everyone was awake; everyone with major hangovers. Those who worked at St. Mungo's walked down to Hogsmede and apparated back to bring massive amounts of antidotes for everyone.

It took well over a couple of hours to get everyone sorted and sobered. Ron went a deep shade of red when he found out his clothes were gone. Some had apparated back to their homes in whatever country they were from, once again thanking Harry for his bravery, and they assured him that his name was forever embedded in their history as well.

McGonagall was sharp and alert—Hermione vaguely wondered if she had been one of the many who'd needed a sobering potion—and she ordered the hundreds who remained around and set them various tasks. Hermione didn't see Draco anywhere. She hoped her charm worked, she was sure she didn't completely erase his memory to the point where he didn't know who he was. She contemplated everything that happened within the last few months with Harry and Ron while she set up black banners and transformed the Great Hall with a few other teachers and adults.

At around noontime everyone who'd left had come back, ready for the funerals; Hermione had gone home to change her clothes into the black dress she wore. Ginny was also wearing a black dress. They'd gone into the school and into their Gryffindor Girls' Dormitories to fix up beforehand, for Ginny had cried before they even reached Hogwarts.

They'd used Sleekezy on Hermione's hair and they'd both tied their hair back into buns. Ginny was dressed in her black dress, tights and black shoes. She'd also worn black elbow-length gloves. She wore nothing on her head.

Hermione had worn a black hat over her hair; she didn't wear gloves like Ginny and didn't wear any tights. Neither wore any jewellery or any other accessories. Hermione had checked on a few last minute details about the funerals before she helped Ginny make their way down to the Lake. They walked past thousands of seats in the large aisle that stretched from the entrance to the school down to the edge of the Lake. The seats could house thousands and it would be a procession of coffins down the aisle and to the Lake where McGonagall was going to speak.

Ginny could barely stand as they made their way closer to the Lake, every step made her realize her brother was dead. Hermione could see her chin crumpled and trembling. Hermione wondered where Ginny had been last night, she hadn't been with Harry but neither was she with anyone else she'd asked. Had she gone home?

As they took their seats in the front rows Hermione looked about and saw Andromeda carrying Teddy in her arms, and Hermione remembered her husband was also dead…she continued her search and saw the parents of Colin Creevey, Oliver Wood a few rows back, Neville and his grandmother, his parents not present. Hermione and Ginny took their places beside the rest of the Weasley clan and Hermione noticed Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron were not present, Mrs. Weasley was beside herself with tears, Ginny tried to console her. Fleur was clad in black and looked dazzlingly chic; she was sporting a sideways hat that had a black net veil that covered her face. She was holding a hanky up to her eyes. She looked around and noticed Harry was not present either.

She double checked everyone and then turned around and she gasped, there were now thousands seated and ready for the procession, masses of black dresses, and suits, some were openly sobbing already. There was overcast and a wind. She suddenly realized where the men were. She felt her eyes tug to the right slightly and she spotted a flash of blond as Draco turned to face the procession. She kept her eyes on Harry who walked out of the school first. Everyone stood, the sound was overwhelming.

Behind him was the first coffin. It took almost ten minutes for him to walk down with the coffin floating behind him, open for all to see. They had cleaned up the bodies of the dead and dressed them neatly. When he walked past their row she saw his bowed head, his face grim, his jaw clenched. In the coffin was Severus Snape.

After Harry had left, Arthur walked right after him and that coffin, behind him were Bill and Charlie, followed by the coffin that she knew housed Fred Weasley, behind the coffin were George who was openly crying, Percy and Ron who all had tears streaming down their faces.

Mrs. Weasley was sobbing the loudest and Hermione felt herself sobbing too. Ginny was staring straight ahead, but was shaking when the sobs wracked her body. Hermione couldn't bring herself to watch the Weasley women suffer. Tonks' and Lupin's coffins were right behind Fred's and Hermione's gaze wandered to Harry for Lupin and then Andromeda for Tonks. Andromeda hugged Teddy tighter to her as she watched her dead daughter float past in her coffin, her tears streaming down her face.

And so the procession marched forward, the coffins sitting in their proper places, their enchanted floating stopped and lowered the white coffins onto the ground beside the Lake where everyone would later come forward to pay respects.

Pathetic Fallacy kicked in just in time and the heavens opened up and poured rain down on them. There were no spells to shield them and not one person cast a spell to keep themselves dry. They cried with the rain, in half an hour of silence as the bodies of the dead floated by in their pristine coffins. Only they were kept dry from the rain.

The cold rain pelted down on them, defying the very meaning of mourning. They had another half hour of silence before McGonagall spoke. Hermione couldn't recall what she said but one thing she said stuck in her brain, seared into her memory, her voice amplified over the thunder, lightning and rain.

"We are not alone, no human or creature is alone unless they wish to be. Even if the unknown is a scary world, we will always have those we love with us forever in our hearts, and we will have those who we will come to know in time. Always believe, believe in hope, in love, and in those who love back."

Once Harry spoke of his, Ron's and Hermione's journey to defeat the Dark Lord he also spoke of the dead and he spoke of Snape:

"To misjudge a person based on the actions of their past and the words of others can leave you naked in the dark. It is the greatest mistake to ever make, to hate those who strive to protect you. You will feel nothing but emptiness and regret if you do not open yourself to the helpfulness of others. Severus Snape was always helping me, no matter how many times I wished ill of him I wish a thousand times over I could take those thoughts back, those thoughts he knew I would think. To hate someone who does not hate you back is the greatest pain I will ever feel—the regret—"He couldn't continue. He finished with honouring the dead by name.

It was well after five PM as they began to line up in their rows to see their loved ones in their coffins as they walked past. Mrs. Weasley and the other stayed by Fred, Hermione saw him but walked on, she looked into Snape's coffin and cried.

"I'm so sorry Professor." She was looking for forgiveness but knew he wouldn't give it to her, Ron or Harry, but she hoped he would. She walked past and saw Lupin. She put her hand on the edge of the coffin and bit her lower lip. She thought up what she wanted to say and said it in her mind, hoping the spirit of Remus Lupin could hear her.

Andromeda was holding Tonks' hand and whispering to her daughter, someone held Teddy for her.

"Nymphadora I love you dear, I don't mind Remus at all, and he reminded me of your father." She chuckled and kissed her daughters' hand, "you're son is extraordinary, just like his mother. Be sure to give my love to your father." She whispered. Hermione walked past, closing her eyes in sadness, she didn't think she could cry anymore. She spotted the Creevey's over their son, his mother weeping, his father and brother looking solemn. She continued in a brisk walk past all the others and when she reached the end of the carpeted walkway she turned and headed for the castle, her heels getting stuck in the muddy grass.

She sat at the steps of Hogwarts, her shoes beside her, her head against her raised knees, her hat on her other side. Many were still walking around and soberly giving their condolences to the families of the loved ones. Hermione had watched without really seeing, as Harry had been earlier that day before she gave up, and put her head against her knees. Night had fallen and it was cold, they were all still wet from the rain and she shivered. She sighed, and got up. She saw Draco standing before her, his jacket off—probably on his seat—his shirt unbuttoned slightly and his hands were in his pockets. She felt her heart drop into her stomach and she wondered if it had worked.

He looked sorry for the sadness around him and locked eyes with her. She wanted so badly to know if he still remembered or not. She turned on her bare heel and went into the castle. When he didn't pursue her she relaxed in the Great Hall where she knew the house elves were just finishing up the grand feast. She was in no mood to eat. So she packed whatever things she'd brought with her and left for Hogsmede. She apparated from beside the Three Broomsticks, every shop was closed; everyone was up at the school. She closed her eyes and thought of her home as she turned on the spot.

Hermione had sunken into a depression after she got home, she didn't leave for weeks. She'd gotten letters from Harry, Ron, and Ginny, all brief but still concerned for her. She was being selfish for being depressed, it was Harry who had no one left in his life and Ron and Ginny who'd lost their brother.

She saw her mind wander every now and then to think about that night with Draco, she couldn't remember what had been said but there were a few things that stuck out more vividly than others.

A few weeks after that she'd had it all pieced out and she remembered it detail for detail—her mother knocked on the door. Hermione didn't get out of her bed, she remained under the covers. She didn't even move when her mother told her she'd received another letter from Harry and Ron.

Ginny had tried to visit but none of them knew her address, they'd asked various times in letters but Hermione sent short, one-sentence replies explaining she was fine, she loved them; she just needed some time to think.

She put her hand to her mouth as she suddenly felt sick; she jumped out of bed and rushed into her bathroom, throwing up into the toilet. She had refused to believe it, trying to convince herself that she'd only been late but there was no denying it now. She was pregnant and there was no mistaking the father.

She sat against the tub and put her hand to her forehead and cried for hours. Her mother had knocked on the door and asked if she was alright and she replied she was fine, she just nicked herself shaving her leg. She shed her clothes and started a bath. She needed to cleanse herself and clear her thoughts. She looked at herself in the mirror and tried to see if one could tell if she was pregnant. It was barely showing. She put her hand over her hardening stomach and closed her eyes.

She stepped into the tub and lowered her body into the warm water; the bath was the only place she was safe, it was her sanctuary. She took a deep breath and ducked under the water.

When she resurfaced she knew that nothing had changed in her world, but in her mind she believed that every time she did that something in her world was bound to change. And something did.

She finally summoned her courage to see one person, Harry, Harry was the only one she could tell, and she couldn't even tell Ginny. She found him at Grimmauld, the place looking considerably better in a month; she wouldn't have taken Harry to be the type to clean after a massive tragedy, if only the world could've seen what the Boy Who Saved the World was doing that in that instant. He greeted her with a tight hug and kissed her cheek; glad to see she was alright. They sat in the parlour and he brought her tea. He drank nothing.

"What's been going on with you Hermione?" He asked quietly, his intense gaze watching her sip the tea. She set it down, carefully shifting her body. She had arranged special clothes, she had to borrow something of her mum's, her jeans didn't fit anymore, and she wasn't even that big!

"I-I don't know, something happened that night Harry, I couldn't face it the next morning…I couldn't handle the consequences." She was speaking rapidly and Harry stopped her.

"Hermione, slow down, start from the beginning what's wrong?"

She felt the shame rise up from her stomach and saw the sincerity in his eyes. She felt her tears only after he brushed one away.

"I'm pregnant."

There was silence, his hand was frozen on her cheek and their gazes locked. She watched, scared, as his face contorted from sympathetic to shocked. His mouth formed a word but it came out as air.

"Wh-what?" He stood and she looked up at him. "Who—Ron?" She turned her head down. Harry sank to his knees in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. "Who Hermione!" He shouted, shaking her slightly.

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not!"

"You'd be so angry." They were speaking at the same time and he shouted louder.

"WHO IS IT HERMIONE?"

"Malfoy!" She shouted back at him, at first angry and then she put her face in her hands, she stood and walked away from Harry who stood shocked.

"Draco Malfoy…when…how…" He said almost to himself. He pulled out his wand but Hermione held his hand down and kissed his lips quickly in their best friend manner and spoke her last words to Harry she would say in the next seven years.

"I'm so sorry Harry, forgive me."

With that she wiped his memory clean of her visit. She began to turn on the spot when Ron apparated into the house, he frowned just as she disappeared, she hoped that he hadn't seen her.

She'd apparated back home; she packed all her things and shrunk them with magic to fit into her coat. She ran down the stairs and found only her father home. He looked at her and asked what was wrong.

"Dad please, can I just have some money, I'll pay you back I promise I just need to get away right now…"

He refused to do anything without her telling him what happened and so she bit her lip and cast Imperio on her own father, she told him to act natural when her mum got home and to tell her that she'd gone on a vacation with Ginny. She took some muggle money and apparated to Diagon Alley. She ran into Gringotts and requested to have her money taken out. It was a long process to remove her entire savings so she told the goblin to forget it and she closed her eyes and pictured the Eiffel Tower…

_About two years later…_

She watched as the leaf fell. She got up just as it hit the ground and went inside into the Inn. She couldn't stand her thoughts any longer. She drew a bath after she asked if Ida needed her with the children. She told Hermione they were fast asleep. She got into the tub and held her breath and plunged herself under the water.

And so she had gotten into the traditions of the village and she tried her hardest to fend off Thomas as she would need to do for the next five years. Ida had been so gracious to Hermione that Hermione asked her profusely not to give her pay, that all she needed was lodging and her secret identity. Mattie was the most helpful, her best friend after Ginny, they did everything together, her children playing with Mattie's. She watched her children grow, she watched as they slowly began to show their paternity. Mattie made a comment one day when they were around five years old.

"There's no mistakin' that hair Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "No there is no mistake."

"Question is…will you let him know?"

"Why should I pop back into his life and shove my children in his arms and claim they're his, he won't believe me anyway."

"Lasse there's no mistake in the hair, Aeron's got his eyes if I'm not mistaken."

"I won't tell him Mattie, that's the end of that discussion forever, alright?" Hermione was irritated, she hadn't pressed the matter further but Hermione knew herself and she needed people to push her until she burst the answer out, she _needed_ Mattie to tell her what to do, to tell her to go see him, if she'd said it enough times Hermione would've actually gone but since she didn't Hermione felt even more selfishly stupid.

She gathered her children and bid Mattie a good day as she walked up the steps into the Inn. She walked in and found their old guests checking out, a nice muggle couple who were travelling Europe. She'd spent hours discussing Germany and Denmark with them and the best places to see.

She bid them a warm goodbye after they'd paid and gathered their things. They thanked her for the information and the wonderful food they'd eaten—for Ida was right, she could cook! It had taken the first year of burning every batch before she finally got it right.

The children were all settled in for bed when she walked around the Inn downstairs, setting things straight she found Ida in the parlour reading a book. Hermione had vastly improved the library of the Inn after her arrival. She had her reading glasses on.

"What's on yer mind child?" She asked as she noticed Hermione fretting around the parlour.

"I've been thinking…about my past…it's as if it's coming back to haunt me, I don't understand it, the longer I stay here, the harder I dwell on the past."

"What're ya saying?" She said, closing her book and removing her glasses.

"I'm not sure." She threw herself into the armchair and gazed into the fire.

Mattie brought up the subject again.

"He's probably married and has children of his own now Mattie."

Matilda gave her a sceptical look. She didn't think a man like Malfoy would ever settle down at his prime, he was at the top of his game. She voiced her thoughts and Hermione pushed them away like flies.

"So what if he's not, why should I go and rip him off his pedestal?"

"Because you used to hate him—"

"—Still do."

"So does that mean you plan on going off and murderin' him?"

"Matilda! No of course not, I hold no remorse, or regret."

"I love my little boy, and no matter what happened in the past I still love him so much, I brought him into this world, why should he be punished for my 'actions'?" She was careful not to say mistakes but Hermione took the hint.

"I would never call my children a mistake." Hermione said in a deadly voice. They had stopped walking—they were on their way to church, their children had gone ahead with Matilda's parents and Ida.

"I'm not saying that you do, I'm just saying no matter what happened in the past, it's over, you've only got their future to contend with now. I'm just sayin' there's no point to dwell on the past."

Hermione nodded in agreement. She laughed and sniffled slightly, trying to keep back her emotions.

"Look at us, the glory of our hometowns."

"Pride of Hogwarts we are."

She put her arm around Mattie's waist and the pair made their way to church with proud smiles across their faces.

_Present…_

It wasn't hard to believe fate was screwing her over now; it was taunting her, laughing in her face, throwing exploding snaps into a box with her. It was inevitable and Hermione accepted the fact, after she'd cursed karma and fate to the deepest oblivion. Draco Malfoy had strolled into town as if he'd known exactly where to find her, she wondered if they'd finally wrenched it out of Harry after all those years, but it was impossible, even if he'd known Malfoy wouldn't have been walking for one, and neither he, Ron, nor Malfoy would've known where she was. She had taken deep calming breaths after she'd heard his name spoken by Ida. She was so startled by Fate's slap on the back that she'd dropped the tray of china. She'd cleaned the mess without magic and pleaded with Ida in whispers to send him away.

She couldn't tell her who he was to her only that she didn't wish him to be in the Inn. Hermione was ecstatic when she told her to show Malfoy to his room. She'd made sure he was looking the other way before she ran in front of him, hoping against hope she wasn't recognizable. He'd followed quietly and she showed him his room before disappearing.

She ran down the stairs to grab Aeron who was playing with a toy in the antechamber off the kitchen. She took him upstairs and saw Adwen reading a book on her bed—at least one of them had been doing something right. Ida had brought Aeron upstairs and they should've both been asleep by then. She took the toy from Aeron and replaced it with a book and she asked the twins if they would like for her to read them a story.

They were quiet children; they always had been, as if they knew of their mother's need for secrecy. They listened intently at her voice which quivered slightly as her thoughts dwelled on Malfoy who was sleeping in the room down the hall, only seven doors away, one for each year of her absence, it was almost poetic.

Hermione had given Aeron a bath because he'd been outside earlier that day and when she was finished and they were tucked in she sighed and headed downstairs. She nodded to Ida who sat in the parlour. She sighed heavily and put her face in her hands.

Ida shut her book and knew it was time; that this time Jean would tell her the truth. She looked at the older woman and breathed a long sigh before saying.

"It's him."

Ida sat up, not comprehending slightly. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes…Draco Malfoy. Father of my children."

"Does he know?"

"Of course not…he doesn't even know who I am."

Hermione began the long process of telling her everything she'd told Mattie long before she'd died—her friend had taken the secret to her grave.

After two hours he hadn't returned and Ida was astonished at Hermione's story. She obviously agreed to keep the secret and she was curious as to how it would play it. Hermione snorted and commented:

"It hasn't been going in my favour for the last seven years Ida, I doubt the tide will turn. You should go off to sleep I'm going to grab something to read tonight."

"Alright dear…goodnight." She had stopped at the doorway, as if to say something but thought better of it.

Hermione scanned the library shelves and wondered if there was anything in the study she'd missed before but doubted it, she'd read every book. She grabbed one she hadn't read in a while and took it upstairs. She heard Ida close up and knew that Malfoy would be locked out. She couldn't fight the urge to stay awake and so she sat by her window and read.

She'd spotted him some time later and shook her head—he hadn't changed one bit, she knew it, he would never have settled down. She sighed and got up; she walked down the stairs and heard him try the handle unsuccessfully. She yanked open the door and gasped when he hit her feet. She kicked him off and put her hands on her hips. She bent down to look at him and found herself thrown off balance as he tried to pull her in for a kiss. She felt her knees hit the ground in a dull pain that made her gasp again.

When he proceeded to smoke she was appalled, she wouldn't have taken him for the smoker type—sex maniac sure, but smoking was another level—she yanked the cigarette out of his mouth.

And so their charades began. Fate was having too much fun with this.

The next morning after she had so graciously dumped him onto his bed she stood in front of the stove in the kitchen, contemplating poisoning him, it would be so easy…no one would know he was gone…she had told Ida about last night and Ida told her she'd seen him wearing those sunglasses when he woke up that morning and Hermione laughed a little too loudly. She covered her mouth as she heard him adjust the paper—annoyed. She handed Ida the remaining utensils and then she left. Hermione pressed her ear against the door to listen she giggled, quieter this time about Ida's comments to him, she wished she could've seen his face.

She handed her the food—un-poisoned to her disappointment, she was angry at her own lack of confidence of accomplishing murder. She then got ready for church. She couldn't believe he was going with them; it was like the Devil saying he wanted to bake a pie for God; an un-poisoned one at that.

She spoke with Eloise Ronan at church and was horrified that he sat beside her son…_their_ son. She prayed to God after the ceremony, begging Him to forgive her and her children for her misdeeds, she prayed for anything, for hope. Before she knew it she was crying again. As she left the church the bastard practically attacked her—well not really…

He'd pulled her aside and spoken to her and then he carried her home in the rain. She knew Eloise—the town gossip—would fall over herself to have seen that. Damned shoe. She confronted him multiple times from the church to the Inn about why he was there but he seemed to have no clue about _his_ children. She'd seen him with them once or twice since he'd gotten there, such as that morning while they ate, but she wanted to keep him away from them for some reason. She thought it was over if he glanced into Aeron's eyes, or noticed just how pointed Adwen's nose was.

He had gotten angry with her and stormed right past Aeron. She ran up after he was gone and comforted her son for some reason, she knew he shouldn't have been scared but she saw in his eyes, his understanding, he _knew_.

Thomas had come later that day to speak with Hermione. She politely refused his attraction to her every year but this was over-added and unneeded. She was tired of his advances and she was too cowardly to say no. Mattie had always been with her so she was able to keep Thomas at bay, now with her death, his interests only amplified. He spoke of Draco and how he was too suspicious, showing up after Matilda's death and Hermione pointed out he was Auror, investigating. He was convinced Draco was going to rape her. He spoke of how he was worried about her and her children.

She was offended that he thought she was unable to take care of herself. She finally decided to reveal a bit of truth after his persistence of Draco's mysteriousness.

"I know him, we go back to old times, we haven't spoken in a while but he's a good person."

"'ow could you sure? Is he forcin' himself upon you in any way?"

She ground her teeth together and shook her head. "Thomas just believe me, he means no one any harm, and he's only here for justice. For Matilda…" She seemed to have convinced him and so he moved into the dining room for a word with Ida, being one of the town's Elders.

Hermione turned to go up the stairs and spotted her son running for her. She caught him and lifted him up with a groan. He was getting too heavy. "What's wrong darling?" She asked soothingly. Her motherly instincts were on Aeron but her witch's instincts knew someone was watching her from the shadows.

* * *

**A/N: UPDATE: I've updated this chapter, fixed some spelling errors and some words like 'he' should have been 'her' or some tense problems where I changed my mind and forgot to change the words :P 'hapening' 'happened' etc. and some minor and major plot inconsistencies, so hopefully it's easier to understand. And I'm sorry to all those who find they can't read the centering/are annoyed by it, fanfiction only lets authors upload one format to publish, the 'story' format where it's either all to the left with no indentation or centered, and I think centered is better. If you hate it that much please inform not me because there's nothing I can do :( **

**R&R  
-k-**


	3. Advice For Young Mothers To Be

**Disclaimer: JK basicallyeverything**

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**Fix You**

Advice For Young Mothers To Be

He watched her leave, he had a sneaking suspicion she'd known he was there. He walked quietly back to his room to find an owl on the sill with a letter tied to its leg. He let it into the room and untied the letter, paying it by putting a sickle into the pouch. He unrolled the letter and skimmed through it. It was Dean and the others, they were wondering—and possibly pissed off—about his whereabouts and if he'd found anything. He ignored the letter, his partners—the forced term the Head of the Auror Department had implicated upon them—were of no use to him here, not yet anyway. Draco still had the same ego; he wanted to solve this first. He wondered vaguely how much trouble he would be in without them when they got back. He sighed and half-heartedly wrote them a cryptic note to where he was. It was up to them to be smart enough to get the meaning.

He wondered about Hermione while putting his clothes on—it was a new thought to him, to think of a woman while putting his clothes _on_—once he was dressed he sat on the bed and pulled out his bag. He ruffled through his things, shoving aside clothes and a pair of shoes and then he started to panic. He threw the bag onto the bed and got up, dumping the contents. It wasn't there. He strode across the room in two steps and searched the dresser, pulling the drawers out of the unit. There was a knock on the door.

"Malfoy, what are you doing in there?" It was Granger's annoyed voice. He ignored her but he couldn't push a memory that wormed its way into his brain. A flash of a shadowed room, passionate lip-locking with a woman he felt up. He pushed her against the bookcase harshly; the books fell of their shelf. He inhaled sharply, pulling his mind out of the distant memory, a memory he wasn't sure was even his. He then remembered and put his hand to his neck and felt the string. He pulled it out and followed it down to the ring. He sighed in relief. His momentary lapse and Granger's knocking forgotten.

He repaired the dresser and flicked his wand across the room to fix everything. It was so easily forgotten, the necklace, if his mind was on nothing he would think of it and only it. But in the recent days he had worried that he'd forgotten it at home. He realized the weightlessness of it around his neck, after years of wearing it, it was like the ring was on his finger, once taken off after a long time, it leaves the impression that the object is still there, and like losing a limb it became a phantom limb.

He heard a dull sound in the distance and realized Hermione was still knocking on the door, he drifted out of his trance which, in the finding of his ring, was like a euphoric high. He made sure everything was in place before opening the door just a smidgen too small for her to enter. She looked at him with her eyes narrowed and her hands on her hips, though she looked quite interested.

"What were you doing?"

"What do you think I was doing?" He snapped back, he hadn't meant for the wording to come out that way but he was sure she would take it the wrong way and she did. She glared and her face contorted to show her disgust and discomfort.

"No, Granger, listen it's not what you think. I was looking for something I thought I lost it."

"Did you find it?" She asked curiously, forgetting all about his perverted exploits in an Inn in the middle of nowhere. He smirked and folded his arms across his chest.

"And what business is it of yours?" He asked, leaning against the doorframe. She took a step back, her body language indicated she knew she'd crossed the line and was trying to save herself.

"Nothing I was just upstairs to ask you to dinner, Ida told me to invite you." She added, crossing her arms. He was slightly disappointed that she didn't want him at dinner with them. He was considering not going, to prepare himself for the funeral and to decide in advance what he should do. _Screw it_, he thought, he was never one for planning ahead anyway. Even if he planned something, he would've found a way to screw himself over in the long run, he stuck to his impulsiveness—so far it's done him right. He agreed to dinner before he knew it, and she was gone with a blink of the eye.

He shut the door and slumped down onto the bed, an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion overtaking him. When he awoke it was Ida knocking on his door this time. He grumbled and put the pillow over his head, did they have nothing better to do than to pester him? He got up and opened the door. Ida took in his appearance, one half of his face still held the impressions of the sheets. He wiped the slight drool from his mouth and looked at her expectantly.

"Dinner's ready love." She walked back down the stairs. He was mad that she had woken him just to tell him three words. He was also angry that he hadn't slept for very long. He rubbed his eyes and moved to the dresser, he grabbed his reading glasses as well as the journal; he would do something _useful _while he ate. He descended the stairs and heard the clinking of silverware and voices as they settled down for dinner; he heard Hermione chuckle in a low voice, it made him stop dead in his tracks, he felt his heart stop at the sound of her body making such beautiful noise—granted it was only for a fraction of a second—but it had sounded so…

He walked into the dining room and noted they were all seated; Ida at the Head, the twins on her right, Hermione with her back to him on Ida's left. He took his place at the other end. He set the book down and took the neatly folded napkin from the plate and crumpled it to the side of his settings. He noticed Hermione glare at him; he also took in Adwen's look of horror. He faced her fully and she looked down at her plate, tears welling in her brown eyes. He saw one drop fall off her pointed nose. He sighed. He took the napkin and unfolded it, trying to smooth out the creases and placed it in his lap. She sniffled. He pulled out his wand from his back pocket and when he saw Hermione paying close attention to Ida's conversation he waved it and Adwen's napkin turned from pale beige to rainbow colours, shimmering. She gasped and laughed at the changing colours.

He was drunk on the sound of her sweet laughter, it was melodic and innocent, and the child-version of Hermione's he guessed. He closed his eyes, trying to bask in the sound; it was only a second later he felt a foot kick him under the table. He glared at Hermione who glared right back at him. She used her wand under the table and righted things. Adwen's laughter ceased. Aeron was indifferent through the whole thing. Draco realized Hermione hadn't told them of her magical talents yet. He wondered if they possessed any…where they going to Hogwarts?

She gave him a steely look as Ida spoke to everyone. "Now let's all say grace…" She took Aeron's and Hermione's hands. Aeron took Adwen's who reached for Draco's. Hermione would not offer her hand. He grabbed it from her lap and she was shocked. She kept her hand limp, her elbow on the table. He pulled it to straighten but she wouldn't comply. He gripped it tightly until she gasped in pain. He wondered if their tension was too obvious. He didn't look at Ida who'd shut her eyes, the twins as well. Hermione refused to close hers in the company of her enemy. He let his grey eyes bore into hers the whole time.

"We thank ye for the bounty we're 'bout to receive. May ye watch o'er us in our good times an' bad," that was directed at the two adults who glared at each other like children, "forgive us for our faults in the past, let us look to our futures. Thank ye. Amen."

"Amen." Everyone repeated. Ida stood and began to uncover the dishes and bowls of food. Draco made no move to help her. He put on his glasses and opened the journal, while the others passed the bowls around.

"You have glasses." Hermione stated. He looked at her; she was holding the salad bowl but was not scooping from it nor passing it on. "You never needed them before…"

"Yes Granger, for reading." He annunciated slowly, continued to flip the pages.

"They don't make you any smarter."

"Heaven forbid I match the wits of the 'Great One'." Her superior intellect was taking a beating.

"Since when do you read anyway?"

"Since this case, why, do you want a pair Granger? I'm sure that'd heighten your amazing abilities, perhaps bring you up a notch to my level." He wasn't sure what the hell he was talking about now.

"I wouldn't bring myself as low as you."

"At least I don't pretend." He saw her mouth open slightly in shock, she was hurt, and she faced her plate, not wanting to acknowledge what he'd said. He stole a glance at Ida, she looked furious, the twins looked scared. He wondered how much of a bastard he was for mentally abusing their mother in front of them. He looked back at the journal, his eyes stinging with anger.

After a few seconds Adwen pushed her chair back and got off, Aeron did the same, and they switched places. With some mental communication he'd told her to switch places with him. He looked at Draco the whole time, on guard as if to fight him. He was protecting his sister by being a man. Something Draco could never have done. For a few minutes he matched the gaze, two silver eyes staring each other down, until Hermione cleared her throat. She passed the salad to Draco and without looking at him again she spoke to her food, but with more pride. "It is rude to read at the dinner table Mr. Malfoy. There is a time for such things and it is not included in our dinner time." She took the bowl of glorified mashed potatoes from Ida's frozen hands and scooped some for herself with such power that a bit splattered across the table. She passed the bowl on but when he didn't take it she placed it on the table with a slight edge, making the twins, Ida and Draco jump.

He shut the book but didn't remove his glasses—sometimes he would get migraines and the only thing that soothed him in an instant was wearing his glasses. He allowed a few seconds of silence before he noticed Aeron was offering him the Shepherd's Pie platter, he was struggling to hold onto the giant thing with both hands. Draco took it effortlessly in one hand and cut a piece off. He stood and cut one for Hermione, placing it on her plate. Her fork and knife hovered from her pre-placed foods and watched as he placed it on her plate. He sat back down, putting the platter in the middle of the table. He spotted some food he'd never seen before and wondered what it was.

Hermione took a piece of the Shepherd's Pie and ate it, not looking at Draco, but he noticed her loosen up and unlock her jaw. He asked Ida what that plate was but Adwen beat her to it.

"Cabbage rollth thtuffed with corn beef." She said her lisp made him smile; she shrunk away from him in fear.

"Aye, little Addie made 'em with me this afternoon," Ida provided.

He braved his fear of corn beef and took some rolls. He tasted them and then smiled widely—something that strained his face into a grimace for it was not done often—and spoke to Adwen with a soft paternal voice.

"They're wonderful. I'm very proud of you." He knew he was going to be up all night bringing them back up, there was a reason he hated corn beef with a passion. He was shocked at how soft he was being around this little girl, who looked so much like him.

She smiled and blushed deeply. She took that after her mother, she looked so like Hermione when she blushed. Ida looked pleased. Draco wondered if someone saw them all sitting, having dinner. Would they think of them as a family? Would they see a stern and possibly abusive husband and father? What would they make of the blushing, defiant wife? And their children who looked like replicas of their parents, scared into submission. Ida would be like an adopted grandmother who refused to go away. He clenched his jaw. He would be made the villain of course. He brought his fork down a little harder than necessary, his thoughts overtaking him. He heard the rumble of thunder. Draco sighed, it rained to frequently he should be used to it by now, but the climate in London was better by a million miles. He hated he was wasting his time in this cold and dreary land. He wished he could just end his life—his pathetic meaningless life. He eyed the knife.

_Oh yeah, do off yourself in front of children. __**That**__ wouldn't scar them for life at all. Do you want them to end up like Potter?_ He sniggered and Hermione looked at him. _Wouldn't want to upset the mother of my—_He gasped as if in pain. He didn't finish his thought, he didn't **want **to. Hermione eyed him suspiciously. He looked at her with a new intensity; she averted her gaze, scared of his newfound passion. He looked to the twins. He shivered as he realized Aeron's gaze, he'd never taken his eyes off of him since the switch with his sister. He no longer feared this boy. He looked at him with the same intensity. Hermione was scared for her children, this man who was possibly psychotic was staring her children down.

He saw his eyes staring back at himself, his sculpted mouth, Hermione's hair; he looked to Adwen and saw the symmetrical pointed nose of the Malfoy family, Hermione's curls, his platinum blonde locks, her warm brown eyes. There was no denying it, he wasn't anymore but at this point it was a question of _how_? _How were they—_his thoughts were interrupted once more with a bang as the front door flew open, followed by a clash of thunder and lightning. He'd zoned out and didn't realize the rain pelting the roof and windows of the Inn, threatening to break them. It was hailing outside but the real storm happened the minute his partners walked in.

"Malfoy!" Seamus shouted, shaking himself off—Draco was briefly reminded of a wet dog, he guessed he wasn't far from the truth—He stood abruptly, as if caught doing something bad. Hermione and Ida had already risen, Hermione had turned to see what the open door brought but whipped her head back in shock and fear. She tried to shield herself. Her hair was loose but the dim lighting of the dining room made it indistinguishably black.

Dean and the rest of the men followed suit. They were loud and obnoxious, talking of the weather and laughing. He felt that the noise was too loud and unwelcome, after living in such quiet conditions with the twins and Hermione—he couldn't say the same for Ida—the noise was intrusive and he felt his eardrums ringing in pain. He shut his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. They were smarter than he thought, finding him so soon. Ida had gotten up and walked towards the men, greeting them.

"Hope we weren't interrupting eh Malfoy?" Dean said with a stupid grin across his face. Draco scowled at him when he eyed Hermione, trying to get a view of the mysterious girl who had not turned around. The twins were not scared but intrigued.

Draco moved from his spot and came to stand in front of Hermione's chair, further hiding her from view. He could hear her rapid breathing as she tried to collect her thoughts.

"What're you doing here?"

"We came because of your letter mate!" One of them stated as if he were stupid. He heard Hermione catch her breath—he rolled his eyes, now she would think he had betrayed her—he tried some damage control.

"Are you staying the night?"

"We bloody well are, have you seen outside mate?" Seamus said. He moved over with Ida to the desk to check in. He took note of them dripping puddles all over the floor, he felt the instinct to make them clean it up—although he had thought he didn't care for their feelings he suddenly pictured Hermione on her knees scrubbing the floor from mud, all in an attempt to keep from using magic—he sighed at their lack of manners but before he could address it Ida squealed—at least what sounded like a squeal—she had read Seamus' name and was instantly hugging him and pinching his cheeks. He was blushing and deeply embarrassed and the other men took note of it. He seized his opportunity and turned back to Hermione, raising her from her chair by her arm. She sagged against him, still breathing deeply; she was having one of her Granger-panic-attacks, these were like the ultra epitome of a panic attack. It was as if she'd _forgotten_ to do her homework and was realizing it. He heard her breath quicken as she looked from him to the children to behind her and then she fainted.

She fainted; like in the books where the fending off of the dragon becomes too much for the sissy princesses. But the Hermione he knew would have kicked the dashing prince onto his ass, grabbed the sword, and battled the damned creature herself. He hoisted her onto his shoulder, grateful for the half-closed doors of the dining room (one French door stood open). She was not heavy, but before she was tenser when he'd carried her through the rain, now he felt every part of her slumped against his shoulder. He motioned for the children to follow him. The obliged eagerly, they followed him to the kitchen. He didn't know his way around but Aeron lead the way. Through the back door of the kitchen it led to the narrow hall where she'd first spilled the tray of china upon hearing his name. He opened the door across the hall and Draco made a dash for it, putting his hand on her butt to make sure she didn't fall—she would kill him if he found out.

His men didn't seem to have seen them. He saw that Aeron led him into a small antechamber; it was filled with toys and other such things. He noticed another door. He looked around but found no room to set her down. The children cleared their toys helpfully. He had no choice, she would kill him later but it didn't matter, he reached around for his wand in his back pocket and pulled it out. The twins looked at it with wonder. He knew they were wondering what a stick was going to do. Adwen had gone to open the other door. It led into a wood-paneled room. He frowned and followed her in. It was a small study.

"Thith ith where mommy workth." She said in her small voice. Draco figured putting Hermione in her study would be more comfortable but all he saw was a small armchair by a small fireplace. The whole place was claustrophobic to him but he nodded to the children and the left the room, shutting the door behind them. He transfigured the chair into a bed. He set her down gently. He tried to maneuver around but it was now even more crowded in the room. He banged his shins against the cot and bent twice, putting his hands on the bed between her legs to keep from falling. Once he made it to the other side, he conjured a cloth and wet it with his wand. He placed it on her forehead. Her skin was hot, it seemed like she was having a fever. He felt her cheeks and then spoke: "Granger."

She didn't stir but when he stroked her cheek and whispered her first name softly she seemed to notice, he was angry at being caught. Her eyes fluttered open. She gasped in a few gulps of air, trying to fan herself. He moved the cloth from her forehead to her heated cheeks.

"What happened?" She was groggy as she put her hands to her forehead, closing her eyes in pain. She sat up with his help. He sat on the bed.

"You fainted." She was horrified.

"As in…"

"Fainted."

"How did I get here?"

"With a little help from the twins." He didn't mention that he carried her.

He made a move to check her cheek but it lingered. His hand was delicately caressing her warm skin. He could feel his body automatically lean in. He put his other hand against the shelves of books and allowed their foreheads to touch. His seemed ice cold, her eyes fluttered again at the contact. He hadn't moved his hand from her cheek but slowly moved it to the back of her neck, making her arch her face up to him. Their lips met in a tingly first kiss feeling. He felt like some awkward pre-pubescent teenager kissing the popular girl—he wasn't sure if that was _really_ her role—but he pushed those invading thoughts from his mind and put more lip into the kiss. It was delicate but firm, he was still a man after all. A prickling at the back of his neck made him brake away.

He looked behind him and saw Aeron had been watching—for how long, he wasn't sure, but he was sure that he had been making sure this scary man hadn't killed his mother. He retreated, not quickly enough and shut the door again. The feeling of being watched wasn't the only reason Draco had broken away. He had felt a wetness mingle with their kiss and saw Hermione was brushing tears away, trying to hide it from Draco. He took her hand away delicately.

"Just overwhelmed that's all. Thank you so much for inviting a few of my old school-mates. Why not invite the whole Gryffindor Tower?" She was bitter and cold now. He turned away from her on the bed, their body-language making it clear they were angry at each other.

"I didn't invite them; they're my assigned team for this case. The Head of the Department didn't trust me running off on my own."

"I couldn't imagine why." She said, he scowled, "so they're here for Mattie's death?"

"Yes, it's a strange case, all the victims were women, they all had children and—" He broke off, his eyes widening. He needed to tell the men straight away. He reached for the journal but remembered it was still in the dining room. He looked at Hermione, she was brushing away stray tears, but her crying had stopped. She looked back at him and saw the look on his face.

He got up to leave. She watched him and at the door he turned and looked back at her, as if to complete his thought. "And do take those glasses off you look ridiculous." She said through a stuffed nose, she sniffed and looked away.

He was out the door before she finished talking and was in the dining room before the children had realized he flew by. He grabbed the book and leafed to the page after Matilda. It wasn't there. It was torn out. He gaped in horror. He ran up the stairs, shouting for the others.

"Seamus! Dean! Tom!" They appeared, along with a few others. Seamus was in the process of getting dressed and a few of them had already bathed and were in towels or half-dressed, their hair wet. "There's a page missing."

"And…?" Said Seamus, in a generally care-free tone. Draco was having a panic-attack; a Granger-panic-attack.

"Where is it?" He shouted at them. They took a step back, some went back into their rented rooms, Seamus, Dean and Tom stayed.

"Are you sure you didn't lose it somewhere?"

"Why would I purposefully tear out a page in this, the evidence?"

They shrugged. He was so angry he could feel the heat of it come off him in waves. "Owl the Department, I want to know if the other copies of this also have a page missing. NOW!" They scurried like mice to hide from his tyrant fist coming down. He covered his eyes. How could he be so blind? She was in danger…he had to let her know. No it would be best if she didn't know…right? He battled with himself over whether or not she should find out that a psycho killer was after her. He was gripping the journal with such intensity his knuckles were turning white.

He was up all night just as he predicted. The other boys were settled and tucked in for the night—Draco's moans of pain were drowned by the severe thundershower that covered the town like a plague, a giant never-ending cloud, forever in place. Ida had seemed to obviously be grateful of the business, but Draco got the feeling that she was irritated that these new boys were invading their 'family' time. He knew the old hag was willing Hermione and himself to get together. He saw her eyes watching them at dinner, as if to project her thoughts into his, her narrow eyes willing him to kiss Hermione.

He keeled over the toilet seat. Ugh. He leaned back against the wall, the cold desolate tiles. He felt so like them. He sympathized with the tiles. He pitied them and they pitied him. He heard a creak on the floorboards and turned his head lazily to the door as it opened. He saw her hair before her face. She was wearing an old-fashioned nightgown—he was kidding himself if he thought she'd be wearing otherwise—he sighed when she walked in. She closed the door quietly and leaned against the back of it with her arms crossed.

"Are you alright?" They both asked at the same time. He found himself facing the toilet again.

"What, are you pregnant?" He ignored her comment.

"It's nothing."

"Do you need me to hold your hair back for you?" She was clearly amused. He propped his elbow on the seat and used his hand to steady his head to look at her.

"It was the corn beef." The name of it made him double over again. She turned her face away.

"Why did you eat it then?" She asked incredulously.

"I wasn't going to set myself up to be an even bigger monster in Adwen's eyes." She straightened slightly at the mention of her daughter.

"Why do you care so much about her feelings?" Clearly hurt that he was never nice towards her.

"Why do my intentions matter?"

She wanted to change the subject. She shifted the weight from one crossed leg to the other. "So what are we going to do about the boys?"

"I have no idea. I was hoping I could solve this…before it became a huge thing you know?" He changed his course halfway through; he knew she would think he was being a selfish bastard, inconsiderate of anyone's feelings. Worming information of Matilda's death from her beloved friends and family and then receive the praise of his superiors. Unfortunately for him she noticed the shift in his tone but she didn't question it.

"So you're all attending the service tomorrow?" She seemed hopeful they would not attend.

"Why?"

"I'm going to be there." She stated like he was stupid. He realized what she was getting at. She was worried they would recognize her as easily as he had. He looked up at her—brown eyes clashed with silver.

"I'll have a talk with them. I'm sure they won't mind investigating. I'll cover the funeral, you know for any shady characters." It was total and utter bullshit. He was sacrificing his superior snooping skills to babysit her and the twins. She was visibly grateful.

"You won't…mind?" She was pushing her luck; he had half a mind to just turn her in right then and there in the middle of the night. She looked so ruffled as if she tossed and turned all night—it was quite a turn on—he tried to distract himself from sexy thoughts by thinking of the corn beef.

It was only harder to look at her after he _really_ looked at her now…he looked at her hidden body in the nightgown, the lightning illuminating her thin face. He missed her full cheeks, fuller figure, whatever stress she had gone through over the years had taken its toll. He fought the mental images of feeding a very naked Hermione food, eating, licking—the thunder broke his thoughts. He was grateful for it. He was also aware of her staring at him. She looked to have the same thoughts…no, that wasn't possible was it?

He was too hopeful.

Draco rose and washed his mouth, brushed his teeth and gurgled the mouth wash. When he looked in the dingy mirror she was still there. He put his hands on the counter and sighed heavily.

"Yes?"

She looked as if she were going to say something but thought the better of it. He wished he could read her thoughts. He gazed at her intently, willing her to tell him. He knew she'd already decided against it.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning then…" She walked out quickly, not giving him time to further the conversation. He watched her leave and he suddenly—for the first time in his life—felt he was truly alone. He wished she would come back, a false hope. It was as if she were abandoning him.

For the first time in his life he wanted to run after her.

The next morning the rain continued, though it was not a storm but a heavy drizzle, it was annoying nonetheless. He banged on all the doors until he got them all out of their beds and rooms. Seamus walked out of the washroom, half his face covered in shaving foam, the other half shaved. He applied some bits of napkin to the cuts and Draco felt smug. Dean was still yawning widely. Tom and the others were leaning against the walls, pretending to listen but were really half-asleep.

Draco spoke to them all of the first matter at hand.

"Matilda's service is just a bit beyond the Inn, where the Church is. I'm going to cover that for the day."

They were wide awake; shocked that he would take such a boring position. He told them they would have over five hours to search the houses—not nearly enough time that they had wanted. Seamus would take three men and cover the outskirts of the town, Dean would cover the heart of the town and the rest of them would be in the houses closest to the church. He inquired about the journal but Seamus said that he hadn't sent the letter yet. Draco grabbed him and shoved him against the wall—it shook the portraits and he heard two doors opening at the other end of the hall.

"Well you bloody well send that fucking letter today, _mate_." He snarled, Seamus was wide-eyed, shocked, after he'd told Draco that an owl couldn't possibly have made it out of the storm last night. He released him, he glared at all of them before stomping off to his room, he caught a glimpse of Hermione and the twins peeking from their room, Ida was further down the hall. He slammed his door shut.

Getting ready was tricky, he hadn't brought anything formal, he would've worn something casual except that this wasn't just Sunday Mass, this was the respect of a woman slain. He needed to be respectful today. He had to keep his temper in cheek at all costs. All those galleons wasted on those anger-management courses—of course the smoking had helped him curb it, but now that Hermione was crushing his second favorite thing he was angry once more. He searched his closet frantically for anything black and mournful. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. It was zipped in a black suit bag. He took it and laid it out on his bed, unzipping it he found a tailored suit. He pulled it out and saw a note on top.

Draco unfolded the note and read Hermione's graceful handwriting:

_Thought you might need something to wear. Please leave the jeans in the dresser this time. –Hermione_

He found he was smiling at her jest. He put the note to the side delicately. Pulling out the suit he realized the thought she'd put into getting it. Did she use magic? Or did she size him up and get it earlier? He felt the need to ask all the logical questions such as: Why was she doing this? He contemplated as he grabbed a towel and went to take a bath. He shoved one of the men who was headed for the washroom out of the way and slammed the door shut.

After he was crisp and clean and was wearing the suit, he felt he needed to slick his hair back, and so he did. He made sure he had his wand and when he left the room he bumped into Seamus, both of them stumbled backward.

"Check this out mate," he was clearly trying to redeem himself, "we can't communicate with Patronuses undercover right? So Dean and I bought some things in Cork." He pulled out a handful of small clear things. Draco didn't have any idea as to what they were—it showed on his uninterested face. Seamus sighed and explained.

"They're what muggles use to communicate, you put them in your ear and you can hear everyone you're connected to. These pieces," he showed him smaller ones, "go into your cuff and you just bring it close to your mouth and talk!" He was excited, Draco was ecstatic—sarcastically speaking—and took an earpiece and the mouthpiece. Seamus went around to the other guys and passed the pairs around. They organized themselves in the lobby and once they were ready they bid Draco they'd all stay connected and left. Once the front door closed he heard Hermione's door open.

She was in a light robe; unusually short…She was looking down into the foyer warily. Once she spotted Draco she was surprised in a good way, he almost thought he saw the corners of her mouth pull up. Ida came stomping down the hall; the women exchanged glances, clearly angry about the same thing: there was too much testosterone in the Inn.

"My Mr. Malfoy!" Ida was shocked as well, "you look…" she trailed off; Hermione unexpectedly finished the sentence for her.

"Dashing." She crossed her arms triumphantly. He put a smirk on his face.

"You didn't need to do this." He gestured to his suit. She shrugged. She walked into her room but made no move to close the door. He took her body language as a means to follow her in. Ida had disappeared some time earlier. He was convinced there were secret doors in the Inn.

Her room was much bigger than his, he expected that much because of the fact she had a 'family' and she was living at the Inn like Ida. He looked around and saw Adwen in a solemn plain black dress. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face in a bun at the back of her neck; her nose was very much the focal point of her beautiful face. She was fiddling with her black hat. He saw Aeron looking out the window; he was also wearing a suit. Neither twin looked at him. He saw Hermione gather a few things and head for the door.

"Do you mind watching them for a moment?" She whispered, he nodded, and she left down the hall to get ready.

He put his hands in his pockets and looked at the twins. They didn't seem to notice he was trying to catch their eye. So he moved over and sat on Aeron's bed, across from Adwen. She looked up at him, Aeron didn't move. There were tears in her eyes. Draco's heart melted. He got up and awkwardly sat beside her.

She moved next, to ease his out-of-place-ness. She put her arms around his neck and sat in his lap, crying into his shoulder. He awkwardly put his arms around her. She was so small and frail he felt he would hurt her. He hugged her and felt something stir in him, an emotion that was new to him.

Before he could discover it Hermione had finished—damn, she was fast—and she saw Adwen crying, she rushed over, her flats making no noise on the floor. She pulled her from Draco's arms, he was angered she took…_calm down_…her child…**her** child away. She soothed her with her natural mother instincts.

"Darling what's wrong?"

"Mark ith going to be thad today ithn't he?" She was so unintelligible with the combination of the lisp and crying Draco wondered at how Hermione heard her. Draco wondered who Mark was.

"Shh darling it's alright. It's alright, Mark will be sad yes, but he will be happy too, for having best friends like you and Aeron." Draco noted that he still gazed out the window. He looked to Hermione for insight on the matter. She mouthed the words, knowing Draco would read them.

_He's been like that since last night, he refused to sleep. I asked him what was wrong but he only told me that something had changed._

It was cryptic, Draco frowned. He moved off the bed as Hermione walked across the room to get Adwen ready. He watched Hermione, she was wearing a simple black dress, but she had somehow made it seem as if she were wearing a ballroom gown, she looked stunning. She wore a roll of pearls across her neck, resting against her jutting collarbone and no other accessories. He now noticed that she had put aside a hat, matching Adwen's, there was a veil attached. She wore no makeup as far as _he_ could tell. He stole a glance at Aeron's unmoving form and then back at Hermione.

She seemed to take notice that he was watching her. She turned and faced him.

_What?_ She mouthed.

He mouthed something back but she knit her brows in confusion. Almost as if it were God planning the next set of events, Ida called up the stairs in perfect timing. She had called only the twins. Adwen hopped off her mother's bed and dashed from the room. Aeron was disinclined to go. But after a glance at his mother, something was in his eyes, a fire Draco couldn't figure out, he left the room.

He mouthed the words again and Hermione put her hands on her hips in exasperation. He moved so that he was in front of her, he leaned forward without touching her—she was so close…He whispered the words quietly in her ear.

"I said you look so breathtakingly beautiful it hurts…" He brought his nose close to her cheek, he could feel her body heat, but he pulled away. Draco walked out of the room, more or less angry at only himself. He was like a man possessed.

He pulled out the earpiece and cuff-piece. He put the earpiece in with no difficulty but he was having a hard time trying to fit the mouthpiece in the cuff link.

He saw her feminine fingers—the index and third finger worn and forever ink-stained—she giggled very silently, it was such a mature giggle…he found himself longing to hear her laugh a true laugh.

"So are you James Bond today?" She hooked the piece perfectly. Once he'd put the earpiece in he could hear the others speaking to each other—nothing directed at him.

"Who?"

She smiled knowingly. She sobered as she remembered what today was. She was suddenly so sad that Draco was angry that anything was making her upset; he wanted nothing but a smile on her face. His instinct to be protective—the ancient caveman instinct to protect anything of theirs—made him uneasy…Hermione wasn't _his_…was she? Did she see it that way? He took his black coat and hers off the rack. Ida had beaten them to the church…the old hag wanted to give them time alone—he found himself agreeing with her master plan. He held her coat out. She hesitated—that hurt him for some reason he was sure he didn't like anyway.

She turned, her back facing him; she slipped her delicate arms into the sleeves. He positioned it better and found his hands lingering on her shoulders. His face was close to her neck and she pulled away; putting on her face for the funeral. He sighed and closed the doors behind them as they left. Hermione locked the doors and made her way in the drizzle, keeping within five feet of Draco—it was an improvement from the ten-feet away and the glaring but he still felt as though he should hold her hand or console her—he was being ridiculous, she was a grown woman and he was a grown man they had nothing in common except…_you can't deny it_…he clenched his jaw, trying to clear his mind of his knowing thoughts, replacing them with angry thoughts.

Once they were just in range of the church Draco heard the others through his earpiece. They were chuckling and making jokes. He clenched his jaw again. He brought his wrist close to his mouth and hissed into the mouthpiece.

"Focus on the search idiots." Hermione turned her head slightly but the men sobered and the feed was quiet. He followed her into the church after she spoke with a few people. It was so quiet; the only sound was the drizzling rain on the roof of the church. So quiet he was afraid the townsfolk would heat the men through his earpiece.

The pastor spoke words Draco didn't hear and many women were openly sobbing. He felt Hermione rise beside him and she held Adwen and Aeron's hands firmly in hers. She moved up to the podium and spoke.

"Matilda was probably the only true friend I will ever have had. She was kind and her heart was so loving and so open it made me proud to know such a person. She gave me and my children a chance. She was my best friend. My sister." She got choked up and couldn't continue. She walked down the steps and back to her seat. After a few more people spoke—Thomas included—they all rose and the men closest to Matilda carried her coffin outside, the friends and family following behind in a silent procession. He stood and when he saw Adwen crying again he offered his hand.

She took it and he saw Aeron stiffen slightly, but he went to Hermione's side and took her hand. As they walked outside Draco did everything he could from not gasping in shock when he felt Hermione intertwine her hand gently in his. He squared his shoulders and led them along to the graveyard.

The rain soaked through them as it got heavier but no one said a word. He spotted a little boy at the front—it was Mark, Matilda's son—he was grasping the hand of his grandmother who was sobbing the loudest. Something, a flash of colour caught Draco's eye as they gathered around the lowering of the coffin. He looked across from him in the crowd on the other side. He saw a young man—no older than eighteen—staring at the 'family'. He tightened his grip on Hermione's hand as he followed the boy's gaze to Hermione. She didn't take any notice of him. Draco glared at the young man…something suspicious about him…was he their man? He took note of his dark hair and sharp features. The young man felt eyes on him and broke his gaze, turning his head slightly from Hermione to Draco. Draco gasped as he saw silver eyes—

"Draco! You'd better come and see this mate, it's…" Seamus broke off, whether it being from the interference of the weather or something else Draco wasn't sure, but in that moment it had broken his trance and when he looked again the young man was gone.

He brought his hand close to his face—as if he were scratching his jaw—and spoke quietly:

"What is it?"

"We found something, it's sick…" Dean said disgust in his voice—Draco could tell he was trying to keep the bile down.

"Is there any danger?"

"They might be at the funeral, no one was here…" Draco didn't wait for him to explain. He put his hand on the small of Hermione's back and led her away from the funeral.

"Draco what…" He kept her close to him, the children nearly running to keep up with the adult's long strides.

"We need to move."

She bent down and picked up Aeron, Draco hoisted Adwen up effortlessly. Once out of sight of the funeral-goers they made a dash for the Inn. He kept his wand out as they ran, kicking up mud, the rain drenching them faster. She fumbled with the keys of the Inn and once they were inside Draco began casting magical seals across the whole perimeter.

"Go to the study, take them with you."

She hesitated.

"GO!"

He brought his mouthpiece up to his face and spoke.

"What is it that you found? Who's house?"

"It's an abandoned shack by the shore, we weren't going to search it at first but when we noticed the tracks we thought we'd better check it out."

Seamus now spoke after Tom had his turn.

"We can't even describe it Malfoy, we sent a Patronus to the Ministry. I think we just found our killer's headquarters. You need to come down here and see this."

"I…can't. Not just yet."

There was a shocked silence, he would have been bouncing at the opportunity but he couldn't leave Hermione alone. "Just give me five minutes."

He walked back to the study and knocked on the door. Hermione shushed the twins and got up to open the door.

"Well, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"You're in trouble, just…stay here and don't open the door to anyone. I think it's time for you to whip out your wand and protect yourself. For them…"

She was shaking her head, trying to gather her thoughts; he put his hands on the sides of her face, cradling it gently.

"Hermione listen to me. You are in this more than anyone thought. You're the next target. This psycho kills for no reason and without hesitation or thought. You must keep yourself hidden. I need to check a lead so you need to stay here until I get back. Please." He kissed her forehead for a reason lost to him. He pushed her back into the room, a bewildered look upon her face. He locked the door with the key and magic and left the Inn.

He ran from the Inn, the rain had ceased by now so he could see without obstruction. He received directions from the guys and was there in less than ten minutes. The shack was not an extraordinary sight and it gave him chills to behold it.

He ran in, his wand out, and then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the inside of the shack.

The walls were drenched in blood, some was dry some was fresh. The dried blood held the pictures like glue. Hundreds of pictures of young women—photographs taken unknowingly and some were posing as if they were stolen family pictures. The journal was nothing compared to the amount of targets this person had stacked up. There were sayings carved all across the floorboards, carved using—he looked closer—fingernails. He cringed. The same words appeared more than once: "You lied." He looked closer and saw many other bitter words scrawled in messy paint, things like: "How could you abandon them?" "Whore" "Why did you say no?" But the most disturbing one was written in large lettering across the grimy broken window: "I loved you, that's why I killed you."

Draco found that his mouth was hanging open. "You said you sent for the Ministry?"

"Yeah." One of them managed to say.

"Good…this is going to need a lot more people…You, start taking photographs, go through the rest of the shack for any documents of any kind, anything. Anything you find let me know right away." The shack was bigger once you were inside, it had one room off to the side—he didn't venture in there, he could clearly see the blood soaked bed and floors from where he stood. He turned to leave; he heard a creak as he touched one floorboard. He looked down at the floorboard with the words 'You Lied!' and noticed spacing between the other one. He pried it loose with his hands and found that there was a cellar under the shack. They all descended after him into the gloom. Almost at once they lit their wands at the same time, thinking 'Lumos' instead of saying it—fearing any noise would bode badly for them. There was a horrible stench and they saw a small passageway leading into a larger room, here the smell was so intense they covered their faces with their collars and sleeves. What they saw would scar them.

Almost like a butcher shop, there were rows of dead women on hooks, their bowels strewn in front of their corpses; their necks bent at irregular angles, their tangled and matted hair obscuring their scared faces—forever frozen—blood ran down from their heads, arms bodies and legs, covering their extremely pale skin. It was cold under the ground so they had not yet begun to deteriorate but the smell was too overwhelming. They made their way down the three rows, each row holding eight girls—these were the missing cases that had been reported, many of the others they did not recognize, purely because they were muggle kidnappings and the department hadn't given them much thought up until a few days ago. Draco felt the need to search all of them in case…in case what…they were alive? But he got his answer in one girl. He heard scratched breathing, as if her throat were made of sandpaper. He ran to her at the end of the row and called for the others in the spacious room.

He brushed her black hair out of her face. She was so pale it scared him for a moment; her face was bruised and cut and openly bleeding. Her lips were cracked and Draco could see marks on her skin that resembled bites—human teeth made those, he was sure from the shape—he couldn't bring her off the meat hooks, they went through her arms and one was hooked into her back—she was miraculously strong for surviving, he wasn't sure how long she had been down there though.

"Who did this?" He whispered, fearful she might not have heard him he repeated his question louder when the men got close. She took gulping breaths, quick, her body spasing from the effort and from the restrictions of the hooks. She mouthed the words but he couldn't read them.

"He…" She wheezed, her head bent down in defeat but he brought it back up and cradled it much like he had done to Hermione—his heart pumped faster when he pictured Hermione here, on hooks, dying. He couldn't bear the thought—he gulped and willed the young woman to talk.

"He said…"

"He said…" Draco prompted her; the men were all holding their breaths. "Can't we get her down?" He turned to face Seamus. The girl shook her head.

"No, no…he said he would." She coughed blood and Draco clenched his teeth to keep his anger at the person who did this to her down inside his stomach.

"He would what?"

She looked up into his eyes; hers were a startling green, filled with pain and whispered: "Fix me…" Her eyes were frozen as her head drooped in his hands, her wheezing stopped. She was dead. Draco did not let go of her face which had been so cold it was as if she were dead, now she was. He couldn't wrap his head around it, they had a witness, and she would have told them who it was, were it not for her injuries. He let out a strangled sigh of anger.

He stormed out shouting over his shoulder. "I want this place scoured clean anything and everything. EVERYTHING. Get the ministry down here ASAP." He slammed the door of the shack closed behind him, making it swing off one of the hinges. He practically ran back to the Inn.

Draco saw that many people were coming back home after the funeral, the women still dabbing their eyes with their handkerchiefs, their men consoling them. He stared the men down—scaring the women—he was determined to weed out the killer, he knew he was here. The girl was beaten and cut in a way that was still fresh, as if they had paused with her butchery to attend a funeral of one of their victims. He stared and stared as if trying to see if their hands were still covered in blood.

He gave up—only because his body willed him to—and headed back to the Inn. It was still under the enchantments and when he came into view Ida got off the steps and scolded him, demanding to know what was going on. He ignored her and made straight for the study. He banged the doors as he opened them too hard. He found Hermione in the corner of the study with her children behind her and her wand out. She screamed in shock when he kicked down the door and shut her eyes in relief as she saw it was only him.

His nostrils flared, he reached over and grabbed her by the wrist, and she yelled at him and gasped in pain. Ida had been behind him the whole time and was yelling at him as well. Aeron jumped up and Adwen called for her mother.

"What are you doing?"

"Mama!"

"Mr. Malfoy!"

He half-dragged her up the stairs to his room and sealed the door by magic. He flung her forward and she stumbled, her feet catching a carpet fold and fell. The others banged on the door. He ignored them—and he also didn't know why he was being so harsh to Hermione, it was probably his anger-management—he sat on the bed and stared at her. She brought her hand up to her lip which was bleeding.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Didn't know the goody could swear like that."

"I don't make it a habit; I save it for _good_ company."

He scoffed. He leaned forward to help her up but she had scrambled backward, still on the floor. He got up, towering over her, he could see her tremble in unknowing fear. He moved towards her and then sat on the floor, beside her, under the window. She looked at him in perplexity. He was taking deep breathes through his nose and then took off the jacket, flinging it across the room. He ran his hands across his face and into his hair. He unbuttoned the first three buttons of his white shirt and found the string, following it to the ring. He saw her shift uncomfortably, but ignored her and took the ring in his hand, rubbing it with his thumb, willing it to give him peace, to calm his angered soul.

The others were still shouting through the door, Adwen was crying and Ida was doing the shouting, Aeron pounded the door and called for her.

"Mum! Mum, don't let him hurt you!"

Draco's head shot up at that and he glared at the door. Hermione saw this, sensing his anger she covered for them.

"Don't worry darling we're only talking. Ida could you take them to their room please?"

"Aye…" She was still there, "will you be needing anything else sweethear'?"

"No, thank you Ida." She added in a softer tone of voice. Once their unwilling footsteps retreated she turned to face Draco.

"What is wrong with you?"

He was silent as he stared off, the events of the day still replaying in his head.

"Malfoy."

He was still quiet. She got on her knees and crawled beside him.

"I didn't even know her name…" He whispered in disbelief.

She leaned against the wall under the window and hesitantly put her arm on his shoulder. He acknowledged the contact by putting his head back in a relaxed manner. She put her head on his shoulder.

"Who?"

"The girl we found in the cellar of the old shack beside the shore."

She was the silent one now, shocked.

"They were all dead," he ran his hands over his face, covering his eyes, trying to hide from the memory, "so many dead…she was the only one left. But then she died too. The trail's cold again."

"But you've found out something new right?"

"No. All we have is a giant room full of dead bodies. Dried blood on walls, photos we already have, words from a sociopath masochist."

"Nothing then, no name or helpful clue?"

"No, Hermione, we have nothing. Except that you're the next target. I know this but the others don't."

"Wait what…" She turned her upper body so that she faced him.

He sighed heavily. "All of the targets were female. They're no older than their mid-twenties and they were all single mothers and all have had children, none over the ages of 9 or something or other…" He trailed off, his hand waving the air to dismiss it. She wasn't breathing. He turned to look at her face, so close to his. "Breathe." He told her. He didn't want to be in the presence of another girl who stopped breathing. He saw that her fall had bruised her cheek slightly. He then had a thought. He brought his hand up and she flinched at the movement. But he placed it, palm out, knuckles on the bruise, frowning. She was scared of him.

He pictured the girl's face again and saw it. He gasped, making her jump.

"That's it, that's a clue."

"What?"

"The girl, she had a fresh cut on her left cheek, one made by a ring on the murderer's right hand. A backhanded slap to her cheek, it was deep and if the killer was at the funeral," Hermione gasped at that revelation, but he pressed on, "then they wouldn't have had time to clean their hands thoroughly, only well enough to get rid of the blood. Only if they didn't know there was blood residue on the ring itself." He looked at Hermione with shocked happiness, expecting her to rejoice with him. "Who wears a ring on their right hand in the town?"

She was shaking her head in shock, and confusion. "I don't know maybe a lot of people?" He sighed in frustration.

"You think you could have tried to notice."

"Oh yes, do excuse me for not ogling a person's right hand every time I speak with them." She crossed her arms across her chest and sat back against the wall. He pulled out his wand and made her face him again. He healed her cut lip and brushed his fingertips across her bruise lovingly.

"I'm sorry, I was just, so angry; angry at myself for not saving her; angry that you would be taken away from m—from all of us."

She put her hand on his to stop his movements on her face.

"Will I die?" She whispered, her eyes welling up.

"Not with my protection."

"Draco if—if anything were to happen—"

"Nothing will happen."

"I want you to…watch over them."

He knew who she was referring to. He was uncomfortable again.

"Why me, where's the father?" He said with blatant arrogance.

"Are we really going to play this game?" Her voice was so low he had to strain his ears to hear her.

He needed to steer clear of this, his brain couldn't handle it at the moment and he knew he would regret anything he would say.

"Why was there an unstated visit to St. Mungos?"

"I beg your pardon?" She was taken unawares and she leaned back to comprehend the subject change.

"While we were searching the records at St. Mungos, I saw your file," he didn't want to say she wasn't in their pile but in a restricted section. "It had stated you were there for an undisclosed reason, the date was after the war, about a couple of months, give or take?"

"What of it?"

"Why were you there?"

"For my own business Malfoy, and if you haven't figured out why I went then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought possible."

"Alright so you go and check if you're pregnant. And you were. Then what?"

"Then nothing," she crossed her arms, making it clear the conversation was over.

"Didn't anyone say anything to you? Being Potter's chum and all," he didn't think it was over.

"The Healer, she was kind. She," Hermione let out a small breath of a laugh, "she gave me some advice when I asked, she said: 'Darling, I'm always giving advice for young mothers-to-be, and it's: always listen to the sound of your hearts beating together. That's the best advice in the entire world, to just listen to them and listen to you and you'll know what to do.'"

"Touching," he smirked, she didn't give him a dirty look and he was surprised. "So you knew then, and then you ran away. From…"

He was expecting her to say shame, but she gazed off into space for a moment before answering in a voice, a tone that made her sound defeated.

"I don't know why. I was scared I guess. Once Harry knew I knew I would never be able to have them without everyone judging and making assumptions."

"Hold on, back up. Potter _knew_?"

"I erased his memory of my visit, so he basically never knew. No one did except for that Healer, I made her swear on her life she would never tell if they came looking for me."

"Why didn't you stay?" He said it in an almost accusing voice, accusing her of abandoning him.

"Because, because of a lot of reasons that I don't remember Draco, I just couldn't have it all blow up in my face. Them looking at my children, judging them based from my misdeeds, my friends and family knowing what I was," she paused, he asked a question.

"That being…"

"A whore," he scoffed.

"Granger, no offence you're probably the least smutty person on the planet. All your moral-abiding I bet you went right back to being a virgin right after you squeezed them out. It probably magically grew back," he laughed at the thought, "sleeping with one person doesn't qualify you as a whore, it doesn't even get you recognized, unless…it was _one_ man right?"

She slapped him; it wasn't a solid effort as he didn't feel it through his shirt. "Of course it was one man; one stupid man who didn't have enough sense to put some protection on."

"Was he any good?"

"What!" She asked incredulously

"In the sack Granger, was he any good?"

"Well, he was alright I guess." She was teasing him.

"What would you know, being a virgin?" He was offended for a reason that was lost to him. "I mean what moves did he use on your inexperienced arse?"

She looked at him through her eyelashes. Did she lean forward, or was he imagining it?

"Well, we passionately made out for a while, it was pretty ferocious. He made me wrap my legs around him, ravishing me with some not-so-innocent kisses along my neck." She was speaking in a low voice and he found himself leaning forward. Another mental flash of images whirled through his head as she spoke, the same he would dream of for the last eight years. He could almost see it clearly. It was definitely him with a beautiful girl, she was always never clear in his visions but as Hermione spoke, his mind and his heart came to the pre-determined assumption. All his lost memories were miraculously rushing back into his brain. He and Hermione had made love.

Was he going soft on himself? _Made love_. Sex. They had **sex**. He realised she had stopped talking, just before she had gotten into the climax. He put his hand at the back of her neck and brought her forward, crushing her lips on his. She opened his shirt and he skilfully unzipped her dress. The images of the past were whirling around his head like a twister; he needed to calm them, to focus. He undid her bun and ran his fingers through her slightly tamed hair.

His shirt and shoes were off, he lifted her—he was proud of her that she had learned to hold on with her legs—and they fell onto the bed. He fumbled with his pants and she kicked off her muddy shoes. They sat up, looking at each other; a strange déjà vu took over Draco as he breathed in and out. He wanted to take it slow. He moved to the side of her, sliding the shoulder of her black dress down, kissing the exposed skin. She let her head roll back and allowed it to be cradled on his shoulder. She inhaled as her dress left her exposed. He undid her bra and slowly brought his hands to cover them, to protect her, to bring her close to him.

He moved and she leaned back onto the bed. The rest of her dress was gone and she covered her eyes when he started to laugh, a deep wonderful sound.

"Granny underwear..." She provided, she found herself laughing with him.

"My favourite kind..."

Down to just her underwear and his boxers he moved from the bottom of the bed, running his hands up her legs, giving her chills. He frowned slightly when he rounded her knees and came to her thighs. He smirked and she felt it on her lips.

"Lazy are we Ms. Granger?"

"Not all of us have the luxury of being able to predict when they will next have sex with a total stranger." He was referring to her shaving only half of her legs.

"But I'm not a stranger." He bit her neck.

"Y-you're not worth the extra effort." She giggled when he took another nip at her neck.

"Well I'll make it worth your while."

It was just as it had been on that night so many years ago. He was probably right about her hymen growing back, he had laughed when he voiced his thought and she threatened to up and leave. How could he remember something that never happened? It was too unrealistic that he could have fathered twins and not known it. He pieced it together when she had said she cleared Potter's memory of her visit. He knew she left because of him. He knew the twins were facing alienation because of him.

"Are you ashamed of me?" He whispered in her ear after they were spent. She was on her side, arm under the pillow. He barely had any bedspace so they were very close. He played with a lock of her hair as he asked. She looked at him, seemed to form a logical Granger-answer in her mind.

"Of what I had done."

"So you were ashamed of sleeping with _me_."

"No I—" He caught her.

"But if you'd have slept with Weasley, would it have been any different?"

She hesitated. He had his answer. He dropped her hair and turned to face the ceiling. She got up slightly and put her hand on his chest.

"I didn't know what to do. I was afraid of you. Afraid of the future, not knowing what would become of me. I was scared I was just another one of your 'nights' that would probably make fun of me with it. Dangle my freedom in front of Harry and Ron and Ginny; your everlasting threat to tell them unless I did what you asked. I had to do what I thought would be best for all of us." She felt the ring around his neck, the cold silver that lay between his pecs. Rising and falling in time with his breathing.

"I wouldn't have done that." He knew somewhere deep down, his seventeen year-old self would have. But at that moment he knew in a heartbeat he wouldn't have done that.

He put his hand over hers, enclosing them both over the ring. "This…"

"I see you found my ring. Yes it's mine. I lost it in the frenzy but that's alright. I'm surprised you kept it, as a sentiment?"

"More along the lines of an obsession; do you want it back?" He made a move to remove it but she pushed his arm back down.

"No…keep it."

"Why didn't you just tell me when I came here?"

"Tell you what?"

"Are you really going to ask that question? You know who I'm talking about."

She inhaled, exhausted—as she well should be after what they did, he had to make up for eight years of lost time—she turned to the ceiling just as he turned to look at her. He stroked her shoulder, following the shape of it, down to her ribcage and hips until he came into contact with the sheets at the edge of her hip.

"I was sure you'd run away from me. Accuse me of lying. Probably kill me, I don't know. Just that it would blow up in my face. You'd probably go running to Harry or Ron or something…" She trailed off, mumbling.

"It was hard to believe at first. I wouldn't listen to my brain. But if I had gone to Potter I wouldn't be here…keeping you warm." He kissed her lips and felt her lips smile a bit.

"So what's going to happen now?"

"About…"

"With us, with the kids…the other guys."

As if on cue there was a tumult downstairs. They both stopped and turned their heads forward to the door. It sounded as though there was a large argument, and it sounded like there were more men than before.

He moved off the bed and pulled on his boxers. She sat up and covered herself with the sheet. He kissed her forehead lingeringly and left the room, pulling on his dress shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.

He saw that the Head of the Auror Department was there, cigar in his mouth; it made his shouted words sound muffled. Five more men had come with him, including one woman; they were all discussing various charges of action.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Draco yelled over the noise. They all took notice of him but they didn't stop their bickering; only taking the volume down a decimal.

"Relax Malfoy; it's out of your hands now." The Head said with relative ease. "We've got men down at the shack, townspeople being held for questioning. It's all going smoothly. All we need to do is gather up the evidence and head on over to France."

"Wait, what?"

"France Malfoy, that's where his next target is and that's where he's going to be. You didn't really think the killer would stay here did you?" The woman said with an air of snooty-ness that made him hate her even more. She looked down her spectacles at him, as if he were nothing more than trash.

"They're right mate," Seamus said, "we've spoken to the key people involved here, now it's time for us to leave, while we're still hot on his heels."

But the killer was still in town, he was so sure…so sure that Hermione was the torn page in the journal. He knew she was next. But he didn't dare breathe a word.

"I'm going to stay…" He said, his voice shaking slightly.

They all turned to look at him. "What did you say?" The Head of the Auror Department said in a very menacing voice.

"I'm not going to France with you. I'm going to stay incase they come back."

"You bloody fuck; the killer's not going to come back here, not after we've seized their headquarters!" Yelled one obnoxious man Draco didn't know.

"Maybe they're stupid enough to make that mistake."

"Are you stupid enough to act on blind faith Malfoy?"

He hesitated, and then squared his shoulders defiantly. "Yes."

"Then this town's your bloody problem. Gather up the gear everyone, we apparate back to the Ministry, gather up a force and head over to the next target. Let's move it everyone!" There was a great amount of noise and scuffling from everyone as his partners ran upstairs to gather their things. The woman was talking to her quill which took notes as she spoke with the Head who was still barking orders when he walked outside. The rest of the people left pushed past him, giving him no last glance over their shoulders—completely ignoring the fool—the fool who stayed behind on a 'hunch'.

As the last person left they shut the door. He sunk to his knees and exhaled in defeat. He heard Ida speaking very rapidly, sounding extremely angry. He felt Hermione's hands on his shoulders, she bent down behind him and hugged him—he could feel her happiness at his decision to stay, and also her shared sadness with him.

He rose. She stood with him; he turned around and took her arms off him. He was disoriented as he tried to take in what was happening. He didn't hear the words that came out of her mouth. He didn't register Ida slamming doors upstairs. He couldn't see the twins at the top of the staircase, witnessing so much they might as well be in their twenties.

He slowly walked out the door.

Draco didn't stop walking until he was at the graveyard. He was breathing rapidly, cold mist hovering in front of his mouth every time he exhaled. His feet were caked with mud; he was numb to the cold. He picked up a rock and threw it high into the air with an arch while screaming out in anguish.

"God, mother fuck. Fucking fuck fuck. Shit asshole. Bloody fucker!" The night was silent and did not answer him back.

He leaned against the gate of the cemetery and ran his hands over his face, covering it; thinking about his decisions and actions thus far.

They were not the best decisions, taking matters into his own hands. He should have known he couldn't have done it. He could never have been smart enough, strong enough, and right enough to be able to have the guts to do the right thing. He wished he would just grow a pair. He shouldn't have replied to that letter, never should have agreed to the partners, never even taken the case in the beginning. What was he thinking? He should have stuck to his desk job, hating his life and dying a little on the inside each day. He would have been a great fucking pencil pusher. He would have been great at fucking the fucking pencil pushers. He would have been a great germ.

He listened to the night, to the dead below the ground. Nothing could have made him happier to have joined them. No one in the entire world was as pathetic as he was in that moment.

He heard an owl hoot in the distance. What he wouldn't give to just fly away; to run from all his problems. _I wish someone gave me fucking advice for fathers to be._ What the hell was he going to do now? Two kids on his shoulders. Two kids he didn't even know he had thanks to a lying woman. How easy it could be to just…walk away. He knew he would never do it because he didn't have a pair remember?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck my life. Fuck me. God damn it."

"I see your mannerisms haven't changed."

Draco jumped at the sound of a man's voice. He held his fists out, remembering he didn't carry his wand on him.

"Who're you?"

"Why don't you just stay away from her Malfoy?" He stepped into the moonlight. The light illuminating his silver eyes. He was the young man from the funeral.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Same old you. You really don't change at all in the next ten years." His voice was raspy and Draco tried to collect his raging thoughts. Who was this guy?

"Are you the killer?" The anger in his voice was unmistakable.

"What?" The young man sounded confused.

"If you touch one hair on her head, I swear to God I will fucking hunt you down and gut you open."

The man grasped Draco by the shirt and shoved him against the gate. Draco kicked him and then punched him. He received a kick in the groin and a punch to the face. They were both bleeding and breathing heavily, trying to stand and gain the upper hand.

"Why don't _you_ stay away from my mother?" He shouted. Draco was lost.

"What? What the fuck are you talking about?" He spit out blood.

"I know what you did. You killed her. You fucking murderer." The boy spat. Draco punched him again, getting on top of him as he tried to run away.

"Who _are_ you?" Draco got another kick and he groaned in pain and got rolled off to the cold ground. His face in the dirt, he felt his anger pulse through him.

"Why did you kill all those women huh? What's your problem? You get a jolly out of torture?" Draco asked. They both rose slowly.

"I'm here to teach you a lesson Malfoy. To tell you to stay away from Hermione Granger."

"Don't you say her name!" And so it went on as they kicked and punched and bruised each other for dominance. After a few minutes Draco began to wonder why he didn't just pull out his wand and kill him. He was so sure he would. After all, the killer was supposed to be a wizard from the findings.

They were both breathing raggedly, hands on their knees after five more minutes of fighting. He really needed to lay off the cigarettes they were killing his lungs. He saw the young man hold out his fists, they drooped lazily after their fight. The blood from his broken nose gleaming on his skin which appeared pale in the moonlight; his dark hair ruffled in the breeze and Draco found himself shivering.

He held out his hand, as a means for break. "Hold on a sec." He was trying to catch his breath. He would seriously quit smoking after this if he lived...maybe not until the next morning…or better yet he should celebrate quitting after he solved the case.

"Come on old man."

"Old man?" Draco questioned, "How old are you? I'm probably not even five years older than you or something."

"Still, you never could last long in a fight with your drinking." He said that with the undertone of disgust and hatred. Who _was_ this guy…seriously! He leaned against the gate, clutching a stitch in his side.

"Alright, I give up. You're not the killer right?"

"You're the only killer I know." He shot back. Draco's brain was moving ridiculously slow.

"So that leaves you in the category of: people I don't give a shit about."

"You fucking piece of shit I hate you." He spat on the ground at Draco's feet. This was outrageous…**Who was this guy!**

"Watch your language kid. Go home; I don't want to have to kill you." He made a move to leave the cemetery but the kid shouted after him.

"Just like you killed mom!"

"Who is your mom?" He asked, frankly, a little bored.

"Hermione Granger. And you killed her you sorry sack of meat shit."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. His brain reeled backward so fast he was afraid it was going to get derailed and blow up. The wind whistled around him, the clouds above made movements that signaled a storm was approaching soon. He felt a sudden eerie chill go down his spine. He felt very aware of the dead in the ground below him. It was so surreal that he thought he could hear a faint beating in the ground—heartbeats, beating in unison—he turned to face the youth.

"What?" His voice was a low and deadly threat.

"You. Killed. Her." He said slowly for this man he thought was stupid. Draco was at him in an instant. This time he was the one who grabbed him and shoved him against the gate, nearly breaking it.

"What did you say to me!" He took him off the gate and threw him across the cemetery and against the wall of the church beside the fence. He felt the young man twitching under him and realized he was laughing.

"You never changed. Never, you were always like this? Why wasn't mom smart enough to leave you?"

Draco took the moment when a cloud parted and the moonlight lit his features. He had a long nose which was broken thanks to Draco, dark brown hair, the same silver eyes, and the same chiseled features Draco had when he was eighteen. He let go of the boy, his hands trembling. He took a step back, afraid of what was happening. He was dreaming. This whole day was a dream, he would go back to sleep and wake up and find out he hadn't gone to the funeral yet. He was dreaming, that's it, that's the only explanation. There was no other way, no other plausible reason…

He took another step back. The boy righted his shirt and wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve. He looked smug but also extremely angry.

"Why don't you just listen to me Malfoy and stay away from Hermione Granger. Before I come back here and kill _you_?"

He began to walk out of the cemetery heading to the back of the church grounds into the shadows. Draco found the mobility to move his legs after him. He felt the chill and the cold air enclose around him, making him shiver; the weather finally taking its toll on him. He followed the boy and when he was close enough put a hand on his shoulder and wheeled him around.

He held in his hands something gold, Draco didn't know what it was, but the boy smiled and pushed away from Draco.

"How do you know me?"

"I prefer not to. I'm ashamed I'm your flesh and blood. You'll never be anything to me…_father_."

He vanished into thin air.

* * *

A/N: Weeeweeee Man it's like 3:30 am right now lol but i finished it! i was sadly confined to the house for days because i fell down some stairs, haha i was carrying my laptop and i was like ZOMG SAVE MY COMP while i was falling, but i'm OK :P we suffered minmal injuries, actually considering it flew out of my hands it's scratch free--now THAT's durability for ya. But then my Word was like "you're free trial has ended enter the activation code" im like wtf?? so i was without my precious stories for nearly a month and i just goit half-back u know? Anyway i'd like to thank those who've invested and read this far :P congratulations on reading about 72 pages according to Word. So anyway i'd like to apologize for the profanities in this chapter. I dont't swear that much like at all :P just trying to get into the malfoy mindset. So yeah, lmao sorry about the whole Luke I am Your Father stuff role reversal there lmao at one point Draco was supposed to go :"NOOOooo" lmfao no jk. OH MAN im like doped up on meds for my leg which i partially fractured but no biggee teehee lmao ok ok im gonna stop so u can go review! And also keep urselves busy with my other stories. K im gonna get some shut eye and end up not waking up till one in the afternoon. hey if im lucky it'll be raining...again..for the billionth time this summer. the weather in canada sucks right now man like u have no idea. All you ppl actually experiencing summer, plz go out and have extra fun for me too cuz like our summer ended a week after exams. W.e so R&R and make me feel better! Although i think the meds r doing a smashing job :P

Ou p.s preview for next chapter: "The Blues/Somewhere Only We Know" (Switchfoot and Keane)

-K-


	4. Author's Note!

**A/N: **Hey all, I just wanted to let all you loverleyyy reviewers that I have not died and will be updating chapter four VERY soon, I'm going to just finish up the last few paragraphs on **Crossroad Blues** before coming back to **Fix You. **Right now i'm going through all three chapters and fixing any errors you guys might've come across (i know i did when re-reading them now) So i'm going to fix those up and add a few more plot things in if you're interested in seeing little hints about future chapters i suggest you go back and read them ;) But yes once I finish re-reading and proofreading each chapters' 28 pages I shall have my groove back and will update with a chapter four, getting into the mindset completely and devoting my time to you guys who make me so happy with your reviews! So far chapter 1 has been updated/replaced!

Love you all, will see you _very_ soon!

-K-


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